Music of Destiny
by Ashen Skies
Summary: [HPDM, RLSB slash] A story about music that touches the soul, friends that refuse to go away, enemies that refuse to let you starve yourself, and lovers that never wanted to love and never want to let go now that they do.
1. Chapter 1

**Summary:** HP/DM slash with a side of SB/RL, RW/HG A story about music that touches the soul, friends that refuse to go away, enemies that refuse to let you starve yourself, and lovers that never wanted to love and never want to let go now that they do.

**Disclaimer:** I do not own or remotely have any relation to Harry Potter or J.K. Rowling, though I do have the HP books. I do not have any permission to write this, and I do so solely for my own pleasure and am not making any profit from it.

**Pairings:** HP/DM, SB/RL, RW/HG and others

**Timeline:** Fourth book onwards and the fifth never existed in my happy imaginary world.

* * *

**Chapter One **

**

* * *

**

"We're _finally_ going to Hogsmeade!" cheered Ronald Weasley, his freckled face stretched wide with a grin, clear blue eyes gleaming with anticipation, and bright red hair waving happily in the breeze. His slightly faded Hogwarts robes were rumpled and carelessly thrown on, and a bit too short for his long, gangly frame. He walked with a bounce in his step, often throwing impatient glances at his two companions who walked at a more leisurely pace, forcing him to keep stopping to wait for them to catch up.

"Ron, slow down! The place isn't going to run away, you know," protested the only female in the trio, her tone admonishing. Hermione Granger was a slim teenager with once-bushy, now softly curling brown hair, intelligent brown eyes, and a sweet smile. She walked with her back comfortably straight, and her school robes were neatly arranged.

"He just wants to get to Zonko's and see if Fred and George managed to sell their inventions like they threatened to," smiled the last person in their group in his rich, light tenor. Harry Potter grinned back at Ron, brilliant green eyes glittering with amusement, white teeth flashing in his tanned face. His messy jet black hair had refused to be tamed, as always. With his recent growth spurt and lean, Quidditch-toned body, his fame had only increased in recent years (mostly in teen witch magazines), much to his chagrin.

"Well, yeah, that's true," admitted Ron, grinning. "They wouldn't tell me if they really did sell anything, though."

"They just told you to 'haul your lazy ass off to Zonko's and look'," Harry laughed.

"Very good advice, I might add," Hermione cut in. "It's nice to see you boys do some exercise that doesn't involve Quidditch."

"How can you say that?" demanded Ron in mock horror. "Quidditch is the best exercise anyone can have!"

Laughing, the trio continued their walk down the wide path, feeling the breeze ruffle their hair and the warmth from the sun. Sounds of bustling town life could be heard from the near distance, but other than the crunch of their footsteps and the rustling of the animals, there was no other sound to spoil their peaceful trek.

"It's so nice and calm," Hermione observed placidly. "That's the nice thing about the wizarding world – no noisy clanking machines to pollute the air."

"Yeah, that's the good bit," Harry said darkly. "You just forgot to mention the evil wizard who wants to take over the world." He looked away, lost in thought. "It's _too_ peaceful. Like the calm before the storm. Voldemort's been lying low ever since the end of fourth year, and it's now in the middle of fifth year. He's going to do something soon, I know it."

"Harry, _don't say the name_," hissed Ron, exchanging nervous looks with Hermione.

"Fear of a name only increases fear of the thing itself," retorted Harry. "I'm not trying to be pessimistic, Ron, just practical. Fudge refuses to admit Voldemort's return, all the more reason why we should be alert, since no one else is." He fell back into the moody silence that Ron and Hermione had become so familiar with now, ever since Cedric's death.

Hermione cast a concerned glance at the Boy-Who-Lived, trudging next to her, lost in thought. Ever since fifth year started, Hermione noticed that Harry had been withdrawn, quieter, with an air of weariness around him, unlike the awkward adolescent she had come to love like the brother she never had. Without looking, she knew that his green eyes were veiled with sadness and grief, and deeper down inside, with guilt. It hurt Hermione, and she knew it hurt Ron, too, that Harry didn't laugh as often or as lightly as before, and no matter how they tried they couldn't help him.

She knew she shouldn't pry, and didn't, but it was hard sometimes. They did their best to be quietly supportive, and it seemed that they were succeeding at the times when he would laugh and joke with them, but then he would revert back to his moody self, and it was at these times when Hermione and Ron felt most helpless of all. Harry would look at them with heavy sorrow in his eyes, and he seemed to think that pushing himself away from everyone was the best way to show his concern for them, and nothing anyone said changed his opinion. But Ron and Hermione never gave up trying, and never would until they had got the old Harry back.

"Look, there's Hogsmeade!" exclaimed Ron in an effort to break the oppressive silence. Hermione shook herself from her thoughts and looked up. The quaint wizarding settlement was in front of them, filled with all sorts of people hurrying or strolling from place to place. Harry looked up as well, and flinched a little, seeing so many unknown people. He was used to the students at Hogwarts, who basically respected his wishes and mostly left him alone, but here were a whole lot of strangers who would whisper and point when they saw his scar.

"Harry, come on," urged Hermione, a comforting hand on his arm. Harry smiled weakly at her, then at Ron, who had settled himself at Harry's other side. The warm smiles his friends returned him encouraged Harry, and gave him the determination to see this day through – his apprehension was understandable, since it was the first day of the year that he had ventured outside of Hogwarts or the Muggle world into the Wizarding world.

Flanked by his friends, Harry walked into Hogsmeade. _This isn't as bad as I thought it would be,_ Harry admitted to himself, waving at Dean and Seamus chatting animatedly with some Ravenclaws. The boys waved back. _No buildings are collapsing, nobody's staring at me – _

The fountain in the center of the newly-erected Hogsmeade Square exploded.

There was a stunned silence. Then the screaming began, as black hooded figures appeared where the fountain had once been, wands out and casting spells with deadly precision. The geyser of water was the dramatic centerpiece amidst the methodically exploding buildings as the Death Eaters steadily expanded their circle, destroying wall after wall of age-old stone. Chaos erupted as people poured out of buildings; screaming, pushing, shoving – anything to get out of the way, anything to escape. They were all out of their minds with terror; they weren't expecting this – You-Know-Who was supposed to be dead! Terrified witches and wizards had only one thing on their minds: to escape and to survive. The uglier side of human nature showed itself as they trampled over anything and anybody in their terrified haste.

Harry stood stunned, watching with a shocked detachment as the Death Eaters continued their systematic destruction of buildings, not caring if people were inside... and then, half of them lowered their wands to chest-height, aiming at the running populace, and amidst the many colours of light was green…

"No." whispered Harry, "No, no, no…

"NO!"

The Boy-Who-Lived charged forward, wand suddenly in his hand – he didn't even remember pulling it out – his friends a step behind. "_Stupefy_!" he screamed, again and again, and the red beams of the Stunning Spell cut across the mess of curses and felled a few black figures. Harry's mind was mercifully blank as he dueled with the Death Eaters who had just noticed him and were concentrating on capturing – or killing – the hated enemy of their Lord; but even the famous hero couldn't avoid the numerous beams all at once, and even as he yelled out another _Stupefy_ he was aware that a purple beam of light was heading his way, and he couldn't avoid it. He braced himself.

Suddenly a white light flared briefly at his side, and the purple beam was deflected. Relief filled him, and he knew without looking that the other witches and wizards had finally started to fight back, gathering into clumps for safety in numbers. The controlled destruction of the Death Eaters was halted as they were forced to break up to deal with the sudden threat.

No, wait – they weren't breaking up, they were gathering into a clump, a circle… and then there was a blue glow and somehow, somehow none of the spells cast could hit the Death Eaters. Instead, they were absorbed into the blue light, but the Dark spells were still coming strong – and there were three Killing Curses headed straight for Harry, and he couldn't dodge them all. He was frozen to the spot, seeing the green light lance straight towards him, hearing his mother's screams, seeing her body collapse to the ground –

And a hand grabbed his arm with a grip tight enough to bruise, and there was a loud _crack_ and he felt his body being unpleasantly squeezed to the point of suffocation and then – nothing. The sounds suddenly lessened, and he was dropped unceremoniously on the dusty ground. Blinking to clear his head, he looked around. He was in the remains of a room, covered in dust from the destroyed building, and hidden from the battle going on outside.

And there was a black shadowy figure looming over him.

Harry yelled and thrust himself away from the mysterious person, scrabbling for his wand, before realizing that that piece of wood the person was twirling was the exact thing he was looking for. _I'll be damned if I'm going to go down lying in the dirt, _Harry thought furiously, and pushed himself up to a standing position, swaying dangerously before righting himself. As an afterthought, he put up his fists. A little silly, considering that he could be knocked out with a simple _Stupefy_, but what the hell. He would go down fighting.

"Fight me like a man, you cowering _dog_ of a Death Eater," he spat, the memories from Cedric's death still fresh in his mind.

"I'd like to, but sadly, I can't, even though I'm more of a man than you are. Because one, I'm not working for Voldemort, two, I'm certainly not a dog, and three, there are much more important things to do right now than engage in some pointless fight with the heroic Boy-Who-Lived, like, oh, I don't know, saving the world?" The smooth, sarcastic tenor was disturbingly familiar, and Harry blinked for a moment. Then, unexpectedly, the wand was carelessly tossed back to Harry – his Seeker reflexes let him catch it automatically – and his rescuer stepped out into a better-lighted part of the room.

"_Malfoy_?" Harry hissed disbelievingly, taking a good look at the person who had just saved his life. He pointed an accusing finger at the Slytherin, as if it was Malfoy's fault for being, well, _Malfoy_ and saving him to boot.

"Ten points to the boy for finally using his brain," drawled Malfoy. His silvery hair caught even the faint sunlight trickling in, shimmering like threads of woven silver, and his silvery-gray eyes were cold as usual. His finely sculptured face was emotionless, with only a faint sneer on his mouth; his tall frame radiated arrogant strength. The pose he stuck, folding his arms into his black Hogwarts robes, gave him an air of superiority and impatience, like he had much better things to do than stand there and watch Harry Potter Boy-Who-Lived make a fool of himself.

It also made him look like a smaller, paler version of Snape. With less oil.

"Malfoy!" he said again, having nothing else to say coming to mind.

"Yes, I think we have long established that fact, Potter. We are _wasting time_ –"

"Did you just _Apparate_? How? We haven't learned it yet! You're underage!"

Malfoy shot him a scathing look. "Is _that_ the most pressing question on your sadly lacking mind right _now_, Potter?"

_He has a very good point,_ the little voice in his head told him reasonably while sitting on the impulse to punch Malfoy's lights out just on principle. Harry was about to say something to Malfoy when –

"Harry Potter! Come out and play, little boy! No? Well then. This boy here will do nicely – are you watching, Potter? Is he your friend? I hope he is. Crucio!" came the taunting voice from outside the room, sounding muffled through the wall. Harry's eyes widened in horror as someone began screaming. "They have my friends and they're _torturing_ them," he said disbelievingly.

"Yes, so come up with a plan," snapped Malfoy. "No, forget it, what am I saying? You can't think. If we have to rely on you to get us out alive, I'd rather jump off a cliff first."

"Then why don't you? I don't need your help!" Harry snarled in return, ducking around Malfoy, who was between him and the nearest exit.

Malfoy grabbed his arm and yanked him back. "Might I remind you that I wasn't the one standing straight in the path of a Dark Curse! Honestly, Potter, a simple ducking action would have sufficed."

Harry opened his mouth to insult Malfoy straight back, but then closed it again. Malfoy was right, what had he been doing, frozen to the spot like that? There _had_ been a chance that he could have avoided the curses. And Harry _was_ indebted to him, after all. Maybe Malfoy wasn't as bad as he seemed, if he actually did something as noble as saving someone. Harry had always thought him the Death Eater type, what with his father and all, killing and torturing mercilessly.

Malfoy looked faintly surprised that Harry had not replied, but then shrugged it off. He beckoned to the green-eyed boy, pulling him down to a crouch in front of a half-collapse wall of rubble. "Look," he ordered in a commanding whisper (how did he _do_ that?), shoving Harry's face into the wall.

Harry looked, setting his questions aside for now. He could see all that was happening outside, through the cracks in the wall, and what he saw made him go cold. The Death Eaters had the Hogwarts students Stupefied, kept in a glowing blue barrier – the one that absorbed all magic. There were bodies all over the square, motionless; others were alive but unmoving in terror. Harry prayed fervently that most of the people had escaped. The Death Eaters themselves were inside the barrier, facing outwards in a circle, so that not a single movement would escape their notice.

Malfoy pulled Harry back. "See, no one can cast a spell past the barrier, but the barrier itself is physically non-existent. So what you have to do is to get inside that barrier and cast a spell to get rid of them. I'll distract them for you, but you have to be quick," he whispered, voice barely audible even though he was centimeters away from Harry.

Harry nodded, frantically recalling the spells he'd learnt, and quickly settled on a plan. He watched as Malfoy melded with the shadows and slipped away; he himself quietly made his way to a gap in the wall where he could dash outside quickly. Precious second ticked past as Harry waited, cold sweat beading on his forehead and palms. His friends' lives were in danger out there, because of him, and if they died - Harry didn't even want to think about that.

He watched with horror as a Death Eater levitated a third-year Hufflepuff and another one aim his wand at the student. "Harry Potter! We will kill this boy now, if you don't come out!" one of them yelled.

_Come on, Malfoy, where are you!_ Harry thought frantically, scanning the grounds for any sign of movement. Then, _Wait, what am I doing? I'm trusting a Slytherin! The leader of the Slytherins at that! Should I just make a run for it and pray for the best –_

He never got to finish his mental sentence, for the next moment, he had to duck to avoid his head being sliced off by a piece of flying metal. Harry immediately straightened and stared out at the Square. It appeared that yet another building had exploded, but not from the Death Eaters' doing; the aforementioned Death Eaters were in fact pointing their wands in that direction, yelling out curses – and most importantly, _facing away from Harry_.

Harry ducked out from behind the wall he was crouching behind, and with lightning speed was inside the barrier before he even knew it. As if in slow motion, he saw the Death Eaters turn around as he held out his wand at chest-height and yelled, "_Dilato Stupefy_!"

A red disc of light expanded from the point of Harry's wand, slicing outwards; the Death Eaters did not have the time to duck, and all within the ten-metre range of his spell were knocked unconscious, the spell automatically bypassing the caster. Those who were outside Harry's range whipped around to aim curses at Harry, but were promptly knocked out with a few well-aimed spells by, Harry presumed, Malfoy, the people on the ground not having enough time to react. The barrier dissolved into the air and disappeared.

Harry looked around him and blinked a few times. It was _over_? Just like that? It seemed too… simple, somehow. Too easy. Surely Voldemort wouldn't let so many of his precious few Death Eaters fall into the hands of the enemy in a matter of minutes. But it looked like it. They had _won_.

He kept his wand out, though – just in case.

"Mention I helped you, Potter, and your worshippers will bury an empty coffin," drawled a voice behind him. Harry whirled around and stared at Malfoy. His sleek black robes, which were never out of place and always perfectly creased, were now dusty and had a couple of tears in the fabric. His slicked back hair was caked with dust, too, making him look much older, and more worn; the gel that usually held it in place was gone, leaving his hair to ripple softly in the tiny breeze. He had kept his wand in his hand, like Harry had.

"If you don't want people knowing you helped me then why did you?" challenged Harry, too tired to be subtle.

Something in Malfoy's eyes flickered, before the wall of impenetrable silvery-gray glass was back up in his eyes. "I just felt like it, other than that, it's None. Of. Your. Business. It was not done for you, it was not done out of kindness, it wasn't a change of heart; it was a rash impulse that I am decidedly starting to regret. So do _not_ think I have changed and become a soft cuddly teddy bear that you can befriend. I am as likely to kill you now as I was before. Understand, Potter?

Harry remained silent, disagreement in his eyes.

"Potter. I don't want to argue with you and waste time. I'm dead tired from all that running and I need to get out of here before anyone sees me in this appalling state. If you do not _swear_ you will _shut_ that mouth of yours, I will Obliviate you."

"I didn't think Malfoys used the word teddy," remarked Harry at last.

Malfoy's eyes narrowed dangerously. "Potter," he hissed, "You have five seconds. Five. Four. Three. Two. One –"

"I swear I won't tell anyone about you helping me," Harry said coolly, fingers discreetly crossed behind his back. It wasn't very nice to lie, really, but this was _Malfoy_. He had to tell Ron and Hermione, it was just too big news. Other than that, he _would_ keep this secret. It wasn't any day that an enemy saved you, and it had to mean something. He was determined to find out what it was, and to do so he had to make Malfoy trust him – or at least, have a semblance of trust in him. And to do that he wouldn't tell anyone else.

Malfoy sneered at Harry before turning on his heel in a dramatic swirl of black robe (sort of like Snape again, Harry noted amusedly), his brisk stride taking him out of sight quickly. Really, he looked quite impressive like that, Harry somehow couldn't take his eyes off –

_Battle in Hogsmeade! Dead and dying! Tortured classmates! Any of these ring a bell?_ the voice in his head said waspishly. Harry's eyes flew wide open in shock – how could he have _forgotten_? Attributing it to temporary insanity, he hurriedly dashed towards the square that was slowly coming to life, people tentatively standing and looking around for friends; some were viciously kicking and pummeling the still black figures; some were trying to tug the black masks off the Death Eaters' faces but somehow the masks seemed to be stuck.

Halfway there, he crashed into someone that materialized out of thin air. "Ow! Dammit, watch where you Apparate! I'm trying to save lives here!" groused Harry as he pushed himself from the ground – only to stare open-mouthed at the Headmaster of Hogwarts, who was trying to hide a smile behind his bushy white beard.

"Pro – Professor – Professor Dumbledore!" Harry squeaked, going red. "I – I was just –"

"Did you hear anything?" the Professor asked innocently.

"Er – no, sir. But I do apologise for what we both didn't hear."

"Unnecessary apology accepted, Harry. I apologise too, for not being here sooner. Unfortunately, we were held up by another attack on a village not too far from here, and we did not find out about this simultaneous attack until just now, when we hurried here as quickly as possible," Dumbledore informed Harry gravely. "I am sorry for the delay."

Harry looked around him. The Hogwarts teachers, it seemed, had also Apparated along with Dumbledore, and were now in the process of Ennervating all the unconscious victims. Madame Pomfrey was there, busy healing patients with Professor Sprout helping; Professor Snape was forcing a potion down someone's throat; the other teachers were helping in their own way. "It's okay, Professor Dumbledore. You came just in time."

People were coming back to the Square, looking for loved ones and friends, and to some people's relief, they found them safe and unharmed. But others… Harry could see people cradling unmoving bodies in their arms, sobbing, and he grieved for them, because he should have been able to do _something_. Malfoy was right – freezing like that was unacceptable; he should have thought of something better, something that would help more than a mere silly basic _Stupefy_, so easily countered. He was suffocating under the immense guilt, seeing all those cold, frozen faces around him, dying while the Boy-Who-Lived had lived once again – even with all those curses coming for him, _just_ for him – like Cedric, dying beside him, for no good reason. A boy, a friend with such a bright future in front of him, who excelled in everything, while Harry was just a boy with a stupid scar…

"Harry." Dumbledore's firm voice made him look up. "You're hyperventilating, my boy. Calm down; you did very well. In a war, there are always casualties, for we cannot save every single person." Seeing that Harry still wasn't convinced, the Headmaster sighed. "Think about what I said, Harry. It is not your fault that people died. The world already places too much on your young shoulders. Now, toddle off to check on your friends. I will have a talk with you later to find out what happened."

Harry nodded, and scanned the crowd for Ron and Hermione. He saw them, staggering to their feet, looking disoriented, and he dashed off towards them and threw his arms around them in a tight hug. Ron and Hermione were equally emotional, and the three remained in a group hug for a few moments, before reluctantly letting go. Hermione wiped a few tears from her eyes. "Harry, I was so worried! Those curses were aimed right at you, and then someone _grabbed _you and you disappeared somewhere and I thought you were _dead_! Oh, Harry, I'm so glad you're okay!"

Ron was not as articulate, but he managed to put in as much emotion into his one sentence as Hermione did in her tearful speech. He punched Harry weakly in the arm and grinned, "Good job you did there, mate."

Harry smiled back at the two of them, fighting tears. "I'm so glad you both are fine," he told them, voice shaking, a world of relief and gratefulness in his words.

Hermione opened her mouth to speak again, when there was a loud _crack_ and shocked yells filled the air. Harry whipped around, fear returning in full force, a bad feeling in his gut. And sure enough...

"No way!" he gasped, scanning the battlefield. There was not a single black-masked black-robed body amongst all the figures. Adult wizards, with their wands out at the ready, looked furiously bewildered. Harry chanced a glance at Dumbledore and stared. Livid fury was radiating from the Headmaster, just like it had at the end of fourth year when he had blasted the door to Moody's office into fragments, except that this time, Dumbledore was keeping his rage suppressed, though that only served to make him look even more forbidding.

Harry averted his gaze and instead looked around him, leaving the adults, who were already gathering around Dumbledore, to argue and debate. It was no use thinking about it, since Harry wasn't very good at magical theories, anyway. Looking around, he saw a majority of people hurt, and other people hard at work levitating the larger pieces of rubble to search for any trapped victims. Mediwitches and Mediwizards were Apparating in all over the place, checking wounds and prone bodies. Harry's heart ached, and his fists clenched, when he saw one of them shake her head after checking an unmoving witch, and the wizard holding the certified dead body cradled it all the tighter and cried, his body shaking.

Harry turned away, he himself shaking a little. People were bound to talk after this, asking why hadn't the Boy-Who-Lived done more, why he was still alive when their loved ones were dead. And he'd be scorned, and hated, and there would be no one to grieve his death like the wizard had grieved for his lover, who was dead because Harry hadn't done anything to save her, because Harry had allowed Wormtail to escape and live to help Voldemort live again…

"Herm? Herm!" Ron's panicked voice brought him back to reality. Harry caught Hermione just in time, when she slumped, unconscious. He staggered under the sudden weight, then gently lowered her to the ground, kneeling beside her. Checking her pulse, he breathed a sigh of relief. "She's okay, just over-stretched her nerves, I guess," he told Ron, who was hovering anxiously over them both. "Shock, y'know?"

"Yeah," smiled Ron with relief. "Yeah. That's great. That's good."

"Yeah, it's great…" Harry trailed off, looking past Ron, then stood abruptly. Pushing past a bewildered Ron, he strode toward the only prone Hogwarts-robed figure that was not waking up amongst the other groaning students. Dropping down next to the figure, he rolled the body over, and his blood turned cold.

Dean Thomas's face, frozen in a look of surprise, stared unseeingly up at Harry.

"Dean?" Harry whispered shakily, disbelievingly. He pointed his wand at Dean and choked out, "Ennervate!" But Dean didn't move. Harry stared, tears blinding him, at his dorm-mate. Quiet but reliable, gentle and helpful, fun and energetic at times – Dean couldn't be dead. He couldn't! His muggle posters – they had planned to charm them to move, for his Christmas present; his endless patience in arguing for soccer had passed many a boring afternoon, and – no, Harry wouldn't allow it. Not Dean, too. Not after Cedric.

A detached part of Harry noted realized he was shaking Dean harshly, yelling at him to wake up; that his friends were surrounding him, some crying into shoulders, others just gaping in shock; that the teachers were pushing their way into the circle and stopping dead at the sight that greeted them; that his tears were splashing onto Dean's face, his cold, dead face. Harry felt his emotions ball themselves up, locking themselves away into a deep corner of his heart, as his body shuddered with sobs and anguish.

Finally he quieted. He stayed unmoving for a long while, taking in the reality before him, before gently closing Dean's wide staring eyes. Standing abruptly, the people around him shrinking away from him, he turned to face Dumbledore, whose face was solemn and grave, his eyes filled with worry. Before Dumbledore could say anything about how it wasn't Harry's fault, Harry spoke, his voice low and forceful.

"I don't want to hear anything about how deaths are inevitable in war. One of my good friends is dead and I need some time to think, some time to be alone, as does everyone else. So don't follow me where I'm going and don't disturb me if you find me." He shouldered his way out of the crowd, murmuring "Accio Firebolt" as he went. Once outside the press of people, none of whom made to stop him, he waited for his broomstick. In no time at all, the Firebolt sped into his hands and he gracefully got on before soaring into the sky and out of sight of the people on the ground.

Harry tilted his head to the sky, closing his eyes, letting the wind buffet him full-force, stinging his face. He urged his broomstick faster, feeling it respond eagerly under his hands; he turned the nose of the broom towards the sky, and spiraled up. Higher, and higher, until the air was thin and getting hard to breathe. "I'm sorry," Harry whispered to his friends somewhere down on the earth below him. "I'm sorry." Because the moment he had seen Dean's dead face, one of so many he knew he'd failed to protect, he'd known what he had to do. It would hurt, but he would do it.

And knowing that – even as he flew higher, he felt like he was falling.

* * *

To Be Continued.

* * *

Well! Here's the edited version, which I do hope is better than before. If you haven't read the previous ones, be glad.

Don't worry – I'll try to make the updates on this one quite regular… one every two weeks, maybe? I'll even try for every week.

Some chapters have been heavily edited, some left almost entirely intact, but important details have been changed here and there.

Although the whole guilty!Harry thing is so stupidly _overused,_ I am guilty of using it in this story. Please do not get too irritated? It's for a good cause (coughHarryDracocough).

Oh well. Things get better.

Please review!

**Ashen Skies  
**"_A simple ducking action would have sufficed."_


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary:** HP/DM slash with a side of SB/RL, RW/HG A story about music that touches the soul, friends that refuse to go away, enemies that refuse to let you starve yourself, and lovers that never wanted to love and never want to let go now that they do.

**Disclaimer:** I do not own or remotely have any relation to Harry Potter or J.K. Rowling, though I do have the HP books. I do not have any permission to write this, and I do so solely for my own pleasure and am not making any profit from it.

**Pairings:** HP/DM, SB/RL, RW/HG and others

**Timeline:** Fourth book onwards and the fifth never existed in my happy imaginary world.

* * *

**Chapter Two**

**

* * *

**

The Gryffindor common room was sparsely populated – these days most of the Gryffindors opted to stay out of the tower, in empty classrooms or in the library, until curfew. Especially the now-sixth years, after the loss of Dean the previous year; and the third and fourth year students, after the loss of two of their number in other attacks. It had become too painful to stay in the Gryffindor tower, where the memories were too many to bear.

Hermione looked around at the subdued small groups of mostly first and second year students – who had not known their seniors as well as the older students did, or not known them at all, and so were not as affected – and wondered if she herself had ever been that small. _I must have_, she mused, _but it seems so impossible now, that I was so young and unknowing._

Oh, she'd been smart, even from a small age, but being _intelligent_ was a vastly different matter from _knowing_.

She knew too much, now.

The quiet _snick_ of the portrait door closing jerked her from her thoughts, and she looked up quickly, hoping – yes, it was Harry. He was intent on the stairs to the boys' dorms, not sparing anything around him a glance; this concentration of his was not new, and Hermione was too used to it to let it unnerve her like it had at first. She hurried to intercept him, planting herself firmly at the bottom of the stairs, blocking his path.

"Hello, Harry." The cheerfulness in her voice sounded fake, even to her own ears, and while she winced internally she pressed on, holding up an EverFresh© box. "Dobby made this specially for you – it's shepherd's pie, your favourite. Still fresh and warm, and the fork's inside. There's not much of it, but I tried some and it tastes really good –"

She cut herself off when Harry finally raised his head to stare impassively at her. "I'm not hungry," he said quietly.

Hermione tried for flippant teasing. "You always say that!"

"And I always will. Stop thinking it'll change."

They stared each other down until a gentle pull on her elbow and Harry's stare shifting to her right made her turn her head. Ron was there, his gaze now locked with Harry's. "Herm," he said tiredly, "Let Harry go upstairs. He's had an eventful evening; we ran into Crabbe and Goyle."

Hermione knew how _that_ would have turned out. She sighed, and reluctantly let herself be tugged over to the side. They watched Harry broke the gaze with Ron and slowly climbed the stairs, and only went to sit on one of the common room couches when he disappeared round the bend.

Ron gently took the container of pie from Hermione's hands when she sat there staring fiercely at it. "I'll just go and put this by his bed – who knows, he might be tempted when he comes back."

Hermione shook her head. "Like the way he was tempted all those previous times?"

"Hey, this might be our lucky break, we never know," Ron joked.

That drew a smile from Hermione, albeit small, and with an awkward pat to her shoulder Ron rose. He made his way to the stairs, and entered the dormitory. With a sigh, he noted that Harry had gone off again – the window was open, the drapes fluttering in the chilly autumn breeze. Harry's Firebolt was gone, as was his wand; Ron knew from past experiences that the Marauder's Map, the Invisibility Cloak and the flute Hagrid had made for him would be gone, too. It had become a habit of Harry's – every night he would take these same few items and disappear to nowhere, and only come back at dawn.

He placed the container on Harry's empty bedside table and went over to close the window, before making his way downstairs again. Hermione looked up and smiled sadly. "Do you think I'm stupid to get my hopes up like this every time?" she asked lightly, but Ron knew how serious that question was.

"As stupid as I am to hope he'll actually stay in our dorm for a full night," he replied in kind, sitting down next to her. They both stared morosely into the fire.

"I'm thinking we should learn from the others and stay out of the common room," Hermione said softly. "When I look around, I remember so much… the chaos and noise, the laughter. Dean, Sandra, Luke… Harry." _And how he used to be._

Ron made a face. "You're just making yourself depressed, thinking like that."

She gave him a small grin. "It's what girls do." Something occurred to her, and she asked, "What happened with Crabbe and Goyle?"

Ron shrugged. "Same thing. We met them in the corridor and they tried to throw a few clumsy insults. When Harry tried to walk past, they blocked him physically so I stunned them and then when we were a safe distance away _Ennervated_ them again. It's pathetic, actually; without Malfoy they're almost clowns. You'd think they'd know better than to repeat these useless episodes with us again and again."

"I wonder what happened to Malfoy?" Hermione said thoughtfully. "Ever since fifth year he's stopped picking fights and kept to himself. Not that I miss being insulted, but it's weird."

"Actually…" Ron considered his words, and then said, "I think I would rather have Malfoy be his old ferret self. The git's always been the one who can challenge Harry the most, right? He gets Harry all riled up and fired to kick some Slytherin ass. No one gets a rise out of Harry like Malfoy does. But now that he's quiet too… well, if he was the prat that he used to be, Harry would have to fight back sooner or later. I'd rather have Harry angry than emotionless, like he is now."

Hermione blinked, and then smiled at him. "Why, Ron, I do believe you've matured quite a bit! You're absolutely right, of course. I never thought of it that way, I was just glad to escape his insults."

"Don't get me wrong! I'm glad too, I mean, you aren't a muh – muh – what they call you. You're the best witch in the school… um." Ron blushed red, and shrugged awkwardly. "I'm just saying… well, I guess, if it means getting Harry back on track, then I wouldn't mind even Malfoy insulting us all over again. Heck, I'd even befriend the git and throw him a party if it would help!"

"I'll remember that," teased Hermione, "And see if I can use it in the future!"

Ron grimaced. "That won't happen, I'd die first."

The two shared a light laugh, a rare occurrence in the Gryffindor tower these days, as the fire crackled merrily in its grate, doing its best to ward off the chill that seemed to have settled permanently into the room.

* * *

"Parkinson, do you not realize that women are supposed to be _gentle_?" demanded Draco, wincing as Pansy prodded his arm with her wand. Her straw-blond hair curtained her face as she peered down at Draco's arm, judging the extent of the damage. Light blue eyes narrowed critically, lips usually adorned with prominent lipstick pursed themselves, and a slim hand with perfectly manicured fingernails grasped a shiny wand tightly, pale skin contrasting with the dark brown of the wood.

"If you want gentle women go find a Hufflepuff," Pansy snapped distractedly. "I can do broken bones, but I can't do anesthetics. So you'll just have to bear the pain and shut upwhile I fix that broken arm of yours. _I'm_ doing _you_ a favour here, if you haven't realized!" She started muttering a spell that had Draco promptly insulting her, her parentage and her ancestors inside the soundproof barrier he had cast around the private room he had gotten as a Slytherin Prefect.

"Oh, do shut up, Draco." Blaise Zabini had to raise his voice to be heard over the ruckus. His dark purple eyes were watching the antics of his two best friends with amusement, from his sprawled position on top of Draco's four-poster bed. His dark brown hair, usually in some semblance of order, was messily spread out on the Slytherin green of Draco's bedspread, since Blaise couldn't care less about appearances in front of his only confidantes.

Draco glared at Blaise. "Would _you_ like to try having pieces of broken bone tearing through muscle and tissue to glue themselves back together? I'd be glad to break your arm for you if you'd like."

Blaise made a face, but then sighed and sat up, all humour gone. "Seriously, Draco, what did you do this time?" he asked resignedly. "Haven't you learned anything by now? Just pretend to give in and you'll be fine."

"Look, it's the principle of the thing, alright? I've tried to explain it time and again, and you still don't get it, so drop it," Draco said acidly, wincing all the while as Pansy went on with her spell. "There are some things beyond even _your_ understanding."

"I _understand_ that you're lacking a few brain cells – scratch that, you're missing entire sections of your mind when it comes to yourself!" Blaise said exasperatedly. "You insist on meeting with him every time he orders you to, and at the same time you insist on antagonizing him on everything else. You're practically _begging_ for a beating, and he never fails to give it to you! One day he's going to lose it and kill you instead of breaking a bone or two."

Draco's bones gave a final pained wrench as Pansy completed her spell. The Slytherin girl looked up at him, still holding his arm, and gave him a wry smile. "We're worried about you, Draco, if you can't tell. Really we are. The three of us stick together through thick or thin, like siblings – well, five, if you include Vince and Greg – and we wish you'd stop being so mule-headed."

"And secretive," Blaise butted in. "You never talk with us anymore."

"And it will be of _no use_ if I do except to burden you further when you've already got so much to worry about!" His voice was a near yell at the end of his sentence, and he bit down hard on his tongue before he could say anything else, aware of two stares boring into him. Wrenching his healed arm out of Pansy's grasp he stood and grabbed his Invisibility Cloak (a birthday present from his mother) and wand. In one fluid motion he swirled the cloak around him and disappeared from view; a moment later, the Firebolt next to the door disappeared as well, and then the door itself opened and closed. Pansy and Blaise were left glaring at the wood as if it had mortally offended them.

From outside, they heard Vince and Greg's voices, and Draco's snarled reply. After a while the door opened again and the two bulky Slytherins stood there, slightly untidy as if they'd been in a scuffle.

"Hullo, Pansy, Blaise," said Greg.

"Potter and Weasley again?" Pansy said.

Vince nodded. "Yeah. We played at insulting them, were stunned and re-awakened… the same as before. Well… we'll just go to bed now… g'night."

They had just turned to leave when a voice stopped them. "I meant to ask you, why do you keep doing it?" Blaise asked suddenly. "You don't even do it seriously."

Vince glanced at Greg, and then shrugged. "It's not as much fun without Draco, he does it best," he said awkwardly. "And anyway, we do it to… provoke Draco, actually."

"He used to hate Potter so much," Greg agreed. "We thought… maybe we could fight with them for him, to remind him how fun it was?"

"And we lose to them because we're hoping that Drac will… want to take revenge or something," Vince finished unhappily. "But he's never heard us out long enough, to know what we've been doing."

"He doesn't really care for Potter anymore, you know," Pansy informed them. "You make sense, but you're not going to do much good."

The two boys looked at each other and shrugged. "It's the only thing we _can_ do," Vince said honestly. "We're not smart, or good at magic… or anything, like you two. He talks to you –"

"However little, nowadays," Greg added.

"– but he's just quietly moody around us. So we do all we can. It's not much, but it's what we can give him."

"To show him that we care, y'know? Like you two."

The four Slytherins watched each other for a moment, and then Pansy smiled thinly. "That idiot doesn't know how good a friend he has in each of you – in each of us." She sighed, and then gave Vince and Greg a gentler smile. "Good night, then."

Varying versions of 'good night' came from the three boys, before Vince and Greg left, closing the door behind them. Pansy gave a frustrated growl once they'd gone.

"I swear _I'm_ going to lose it and kill that boy one day! Why has he become so… so… _unbalanced_ all of a sudden?"

Blaise shrugged. "The secrecy started since that Death Eater attack in fifth year. We lost him in the crowd then; maybe something happened? Lately it's his bad temper that's grown worse. He used to bite people's heads off for the slightest mistake; now he tears their limbs apart and chops them into mincemeat for just looking at him wrong! Not that that's bad, of course," Blaise added as an afterthought, "But I wish he would trust us. He just goes, 'oh, you don't understand, leave me alone' and locks himself into his bedroom for the rest of the night whenever he comes back from meeting _him_. Today's a change in the routine; he actually went out instead of shoving us out of this room. Should we be happy about that?"

"I'm annoyed with him, but I still sort of pity Draco," Pansy mused, clearly not listening to Blaise. "At least we don't have that sort of problem."

"What problem?"

Pansy gave Blaise a Look.

"Oh. Yeah. But still, he's got money, drop-dead looks, enough brains to be the second in the school, and everything else he could want. If it were me, I'd be grinning like an idiot all the time."

"That's because you _are_ one," sniffed Pansy, ducking to avoid the pillow Blaise threw at her. "But see, there's one thing that we have loads of and he doesn't, and that's what people really need the most, and I think especially Draco."

"What's that?"

"Love. From his family – Draco doesn't have much of that. Between friends – he used to trust us, but now, he's pulling away. And I think what he needs most is a, well, a _lover_ –"

"By the gods, you're absolutely right, Panse!"

The girl blinked. "Okay, this is a first. What?"

"Why didn't we see it before?" Blaise continued blithely. "He just needs a good shag! He's stopped doing people this past year; I bet it's just unresolved hormones making him grumpy –"

Pansy hit him in the face with the pillow he'd just thrown at her. Sputtering, Blaise rubbed his sore nose and glared at her. "_What_ is your problem, woman!"

"I should ask the same of _you_, sex is all you ever think about!" Pansy said in exasperation.

"Hey, my theory makes more sense than yours. True Love –" Pansy could just _hear_ the mocking capitals Blaise used, "– is nothing more than a myth… do you know studies have shown that love is indistinguishable from severe obsessive-compulsive disorder?"

Pansy stuck her nose in the air. "Science is a muggle concept and cannot find answers for everything."

"Science _can_ find answers for almost everything, and mostly those answers are hormones," Blaise said knowledgeably. "That's Draco's problem, I tell you. Hormones."

"You are an imbecilic, horny, perverted adolescent with a one-track mind, and I give up on you," Pansy informed him, standing and going to the door.

"Hey, wait, we haven't discussed how we're going to get Draco a good lay –"

"Blaise! Draco_ does not need a shag._"

"Yes he does! Just because you aren't getting any you think no one else should either –"

"Ohhh, I'm _this close_ to killing you, Zabini!"

* * *

**Next half:** Sirius in a spiked collar (and leather!) and a really lame prophecy. 

I think this is the chapter that has been the most revised, and the one that had been in the most need of revision. Hope this is better than before.

And also, I'm not supposed to do this, but since it's really short... to **Griffen**, I know your comment wasn't intended to make me smile but it did - and I assure you, this is the last revision. To **Crysania Fay**, I'm really glad to know you remembered the previous version and like this one better. So for the both of you, and of course all the other readers who took the time to leave a review, I'm making my update once a week, every Saturday (my time zone, at least). Hope it helps.

Thanks to everyone!

**Ashen Skies  
**"_It's what girls do."_


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary:** HP/DM slash with a side of SB/RL, RW/HG A story about music that touches the soul, friends that refuse to go away, enemies that refuse to let you starve yourself, and lovers that never wanted to love and never want to let go now that they do.

**Disclaimer:** I do not own or remotely have any relation to Harry Potter or J.K. Rowling, though I do have the HP books. I do not have any permission to write this, and I do so solely for my own pleasure and am not making any profit from it.

**Pairings:** HP/DM, SB/RL, RW/HG and others

**Timeline:** Fourth book onwards and the fifth never existed in my happy imaginary world.

* * *

**Chapter Three **

**

* * *

**

Albus Dumbledore, Headmaster of Hogwarts, sighed a heavy sigh full of pensive meaning. His tall, thin form and silvery-white, thick beard were reflected mistily in the glass of the window before him. Light, bright blue eyes, set above a long, crooked nose, gazed unseeingly at the dark grounds.

Fawkes settled on its master's shoulder, its golden plumage complementing the silver of Dumbledore's hair and beard. "Ah, Fawkes," greeted the Headmaster. "Isn't it a beautiful night? Look at all the stars glittering in the sky… but trouble is brewing beneath the calm. I am getting old, Fawkes, too old for all these complications. Complications, that have the power to destroy all that we have worked for… or bring us to a great victory."

He opened the window, letting the chill air blow in. Fawkes made a noise of discontent. "I'm sorry, my friend, but I have to leave the window open so that, later in the night, I can emphasize a point to our visitors. Tonight is the beginning, Fawkes. And we are lucky enough to witness it."

He turned and settled himself down in his comfortable chair, steepling his long, callused fingers, deep in thought. Yes, tonight would be the beginning, but there would be many checkpoints along the race for victory. Little did he know how important some of these checkpoints were… and how dangerous.

A slight tapping on his door alerted Dumbledore to his first visitor. "Come in," he called, guessing who the visitor was, and the door opened. He was right. A large, shaggy black dog padded silently into the room, nudging the door closed behind it. "Sirius, it is safe," Dumbledore said genially, and in an instant, the dog had transformed into a human. Sirius Black, wrongly accused convict, had been haggard and thin during his stay in the wizard prison Azkaban, almost going mad, but these past three years, he had improved much.

Dumbledore cast an approving glance at Sirius, who was looking much better after being well cared for by Dumbledore's allies. One of his right-hand men and trusted advisors, the muscular Animagus would have many girls swooning over him if they didn't run away screaming first – he was still believed to be a mass murderer in hiding, after all. He fit the description 'tall, dark and handsome' perfectly, with his outfit – black leather jacket, simple white collared shirt with the top few buttons undone, black denim jeans, boots, black fingerless motorcycle gloves, wind-swept black hair, and – was that…

Dumbledore raised an eyebrow. "A dog collar, Sirius?" he said mildly, lips twitching in a smile.

Sirius grinned. "Girls fall for the bad boy, every time. Besides, it fits me – I'm named for Sirius the Dog Star, and my Animagus form speaks for itself." His midnight black eyes danced with mischief as he grinned, showing surprisingly white, even teeth in a tanned face. "Besides, I've been gone on missions ever since the Tournament, so I wanted to have a surprise for you people after all this while. Remus will flip!" he chuckled, imagining the look on his fellow Marauder and most trusted friend's face.

Dumbledore smiled to himself. Yes, Remus was going to have quite a surprise and might find it hard to stand, but not for the reason Sirius was thinking of. As a side observer, Dumbledore had seen things in Remus and Sirius's relationship that the two men in question hadn't noticed. But he would keep it a secret for now and not interfere… unlike the other relationship that was blossoming in Hogwarts. His expression darkened at the thought, but luckily it was missed by the tall Animagus, who had been distracted by another soft knock at the door.

"Judging by the sound of the knock… that would be Remus!" exclaimed Sirius triumphantly as he swung open the door. And sure enough, Remus Lupin stood there, tugging at his worn robes, which covered beige slacks and a white collared shirt on a lean frame. His light brown hair, streaked with some grey, was a little messy, like he had run his hand through his hair. When he looked up, tired but alert stormy gray eyes in a pale, weary face widened at the sight of this unexpected friend – wearing leather and tight-fitting denim? And… oh god, a _dog collar_.

Sirius grinned at his friend, noting with relief Remus's much healthier-looking appearance, compared to the last time he had seen him. Thank the gods that Remus was under Dumbledore's care; this way, Sirius could go off on his missions with one less person to worry about, since he knew Remus would eat well and wouldn't have so many burdens on his shoulders with the wise Headmaster around. But right now, Remus didn't look so good, what with his mouth hanging open and his eyes almost bulging out of their sockets.

"Si… Sirius!" the werewolf managed to croak.

"In the flesh." Sirius's grin grew bigger, if that was possible, seeing his friend unable to do anything but gape. "Whoa, careful there," he chuckled, as Remus had to suddenly lean against the doorway to keep standing, since his legs seemed to have turned to jelly, partly from relief to see his wrongly convicted friend back safely, and partly because… well, just _because_. There wasn't any other reason. He and Sirius had been friends ever since they were young, and he was the only true Marauder left besides Remus himself. They were _friends_ and nothing more.

Seeing Sirius smirking in triumph, Remus gathered his wits from the four corners of the earth and miraculously, managed to stand. He swallowed and straightened his robes again. "Good to see you safe, Sirius," he greeted his friend warmly – and most importantly, calmly. Very calmly. _Do NOT mention the outfit, do NOT look at the outfit, do NOT even THINK about the outfit…_ repeating that mantra over and over again, Remus made it safely past his friend and to one of the chairs in front of Dumbledore's table, which he collapsed gratefully into. He eyed the Headmaster, who was smiling at some inside joke, and decided to ignore it. "Hello, Headmaster."

Sirius plopped himself down on the chair next to Remus, looking carefully the other man who was just as carefully not looking at him. With proper care, Remus had slowly shed the age from his appearance, and now looked more like the young adult he should be, not someone as world-weary as Dumbledore. Though he was thinner than Sirius, who was muscular from all the running he had to do to stay alive, he still looked pretty okay. In fact, he looked really good. He could just imagine Remus teaching, the children hanging on to his every word… the focused look on his face when he concentrated… the way his clothes showed without revealing… Sirius hastily looked away and prayed for a distraction so no one would see his face turning red.

The gods answered his prayer for a distraction _(Gods, but you lot have a cruel sense of humour) _in the form of one scowling Severus Snape. The Potions master hadn't changed one bit: that scowl was still there, together with the disgustingly greasy hair and that hooked nose, and the sallow skin. But then, once a git, always a git, so he couldn't hold it against the guy. Sirius imitated the sneer he had seen so many times before. "Snape. As ugly as before, cracked any mirrors lately?"

Snape's eyes narrowed and his lips turned up into a sneer that matched Sirius's in its venom. "I see you finally admitted to being the dog you are, Black, about time too."

They had a staring match, faces twisting into more and more horrible expressions with each passing second, with Remus and Dumbledore looking on in amused resignation, until there was yet another knock on the still opened door. "Excuse us, Severus, but you are blocking the doorway."

Snape gave one last glare before moving to a wall and leaning against it, folding his arms into his robes. They turned to look at the newest arrivals, a stern, imposing Minerva McGonagall, with her grey hair in a bun as always; a large, ruddy-faced, bushy-haired-and-bearded Rubeus Hagrid; and a dreamy-eyed, mystery-filled Astronomy teacher, Professor Sinistra. They filed in and each found a seat, greeting the rest of the people in the room.

"Only two more till we can start the meeting!" announced Dumbledore cheerfully. "Ah, I believe that here they are." And sure enough, a few moments later, two redheaded people entered the room. Arthur Weasley looked the same as ever, though his hairline seemed to have receded, and Charlie Weasley had gotten a snake fang earring that rivaled Bill's. Dumbledore supposed that Molly had had a fit about that.

"Hullo, everyone, long time no see," Charlie said cheerfully. His eyes fell on Sirius and he laughed. "Hey, Sirius, I like the collar! I hope Bill doesn't see that, he might get wild ideas." He fingered his new earring with pride as he sank into a couch with his father.

"Going to grow your hair long, too?" Sirius asked amiably.

"Nah, I can't pull it off like you and Bill can," Charlie grinned.

"Why is the window open, Headmaster?" asked Arthur, puzzled. "Autumn came very early this year, so even though it's been a week since September started, the cold winds have already been blowing in."

"Yes, Arthur, I do realize that, but I have left the window open on purpose, for to show you all something later this night. I apologise if it gets a bit drafty, but that's what the fire is for!" beamed Dumbledore.

"Alright…" Arthur replied a little doubtfully.

"Good, good," Dumbledore said happily. "Lemon drop, anyone? No? Such a pity." He popped one into his own mouth, and then waved his wand. Pieces of parchment materialised in front of each person, and they took it and read while Dumbledore sucked on his sweet.

Finally Remus raised his head and looked curiously at Dumbledore. "It's not tonight, is it? Tonight's the Lachesis," he said. "I looked at the sky just now. It comes every hundred years; that's not so rare in terms of astronomy."

"No, it is a common mistake," Professor Sinistra said in her faraway voice. "Tonight's arrangement differs from the Lachesis in the position of Uranus and the eighth star in the Cron constellation."

Sirius and Remus traded looks. Out of the millions of planets and stars in the sky, a slight difference in two of them was hardly noticeable; most people did not even know the major arrangements, let alone the minor ones, or be able to tell apart two of the minor ones with so little a difference. Remus shrugged, and said politely, "Since there are so few constellations that are similar to Lachesis, the closest one I can think of is Clotho, only _that_ comes once a decade, which is not exactly rare."

"Many do not know that Clotho and Lachesis are two of the three Fates; the common man is mostly familiar with Atropos," came the reply. "Yet fewer still know of the Three Fates constellations. Clotho comes every ten to one years, Lachesis ten to two, and Atropos ten to three. It is Atopos in the sky tonight."

Remus's eyes widened. "Once a millennia? Then…"

The others had been listening closely, and Charlie exclaimed, "Then it _is_ tonight!"

Dumbledore nodded serenely. "Yes," he said, pleased. "It is."

Everyone exploded into talk, except for Hagrid, who looked chagrined and slightly embarrassed. Dumbledore noticed, and beamed around the room. "Settle down, settle down… now, to make sure everyone understands… Remus, would you please read it out?"

The DADA professor nodded, and looked at the paper again. "Early will come the dark, as early will be the chill; on the Ninth the Twelfth will leave its mark. There will be four that form the basis of all things, and another four but twice they will be; they come fully aware on the rarest of nights. Of these, two are bonded of fate, but halved from hate, and so, lost. Music will bridge them, and from them the world takes shape."

"Thank you, Remus. Now, would anyone be so kind as to explain what they make of this prophecy?"

"The first line… the cold of December will come early, in September," Arthur volunteered. "But as to the dark, I have no idea; the days have been their normal lengths."

"The dark refers to the Dark Lord," Sinistra said unexpectedly. A silence fell at her words.

"Next line?" Dumbledore prompted gently when no one seemed inclined to speak, tense, worried looks on their faces.

Now they exchanged glances, but the confusion was mirrored in each of their eyes. "I don't think I quite know the meaning of, um –" here Sirius looked down at his parchement, "– the basis of all things." Nods of agreement from the others followed his admission.

"None at all?" Dumbledore smiled. "Charlie, my boy?"

Heads turned to the red-headed man as he blushed faintly. "Well – I'm not sure if it's related – but the dragons sometimes talk of things… they believe that the world is made of four elements – fire, water, wind and earth."

"Exactly," Dumbledore said. "The ancient people used to believe that too, with some exceptions – the Chinese, for example, came up with five: metal, wood, water, fire and earth. They incidentally also came up with this eight-point diagram, pointing to the eight major directions, and assigned symbols consisting of three lines broken in specific places…" He looked around at the confused and slightly impatient looks and coughed. "Ahem. Fascinating topic, really, but not our focus today, yes… so what do you make of the second line, now?"

"Four people will have an elemental power each?" Sirius suggested. "A special ability, like Charlie with his Dragonheart and Tonks, you know that young auror in the Order, she's a Metamorphmagus. So if Charlie can talk to dragons and Tonks change her appearance, then I suppose these four each have some control over an element."

"Absolutely correct, Sirius, well done!" exclaimed Dumbldore. "Yes, four people will have an affinity with an element each. And there will be four more who will have an affinity with _two_ elements each."

There was a pause as people absorbed this, then eventually McGonagall said, "Pardon me, Headmaster, but how can you be so certain?"

He beamed at her. "Because I am one of them."

There was an utter silence this time as they stared at him.

"No? Well, I must say I am quite happy you don't believe me – it means I kept my secret well. A little demonstration is in order, then, perhaps…?" Dumbledore placed his wand on the table, drawing all eyes to the thin rod of wood with that action. "Now then. Note the cup on the table, if you would."

Eyes widened and a few gasps were let out as water from the glass cup on the table effortlessly rose up in a wobbling ball and gently floated to rest above Dumbledore's hand. Smiling, the Headmaster floated the water back, and then gently picked up the potted plant on his table – the tiny bonsai tree had been recently added. Water swirled into being on his palm this time – "Air contains water moisture," was the idle comment – and gently settled into the soil of the plant. As they eagerly watched, Dumbledore waved a hand over the tree, and it grew before their very eyes, the thin branches twisting into complex patterns and miniature leaves blooming.

"It's beautiful," Remus said in wonder. "Headmaster – this is amazing."

Dumbledore accepted that with a nod of his head. "My dear friends, this is a small measure of what I can do as an Elemental. Those with two elements are Double Elementals, and those with one Lesser Elementals. My elements are water and earth."

"Professor Dumbledore," Charlie said slowly, "If there are only four – Double Elementals, is that it? – yes, if there are only four, then how do we know which pairs of elements they'll have?"

"Ah, that seems to be arbitrary," Dumbledore said with a smile. "But I suspect that the four elements will be distributed in equal amounts."

"Do you know who the rest are?" Snape asked.

"I have my suspicions, yes. Professor Sprout told me of Cedric's extraordinary touch with plants, and I believe he had the element of earth, only none of us realised it, and we lost him." Dumbledore's eyes were sad. "I do not know the Lesser Elementals of air, fire and water – let us hope that they are not part of Voldemort's army, for Voldemort himself is a Double Elemental."

Sirius cursed. "How is Harry going to go against that!" he demanded, while shock rendered the others a shade paler and mute. "How the hell is he supposed to defeat someone with that kind of power? Now we know why he's afraid of _you_ – you have the same extra powers – but how is Harry going to win him!"

Dumbledore shot him a quelling look. "There is more to things than meets the eye," he said cryptically. "We are luckier than you think."

They stared at him.

"Severus?"

The Potions master jumped a little. "Yes, Headmaster?"

"The potion, if you please?"

Snape produced a vial from his robes and passed it to Dumbledore. The Headmaster conjured a spoon, and poured a spoonful of the pearly white liquid. He drank the spoonful, and passed the vial to Arthur on his left. The red-haired man took it and conjured his own spoon.

As the vial was passed around the room, Dumbledore explained. "This potion is a Sense-enhancing potion. It lets you sense the innate nature of magic that is actively being used; you will not be able to sense latent spells or spells that have been in place for a while. Normally sensing magic is a thankless task, since magic is mostly similar and the subtleties of it hard to tell apart, but Elemental magic is strongly rooted in the elements. We will be able to sense what, I believe, is the fulfilment of the prophecy you have just read."

"The two who the world depends on?" Remus asked.

"And what's that bit about music?" Sirius demanded.

"I must admit the music part confounded me at first, but then I became aware of certain… recent habits of certain students. Drink the potion, my friends."

"Students!" Snape exclaimed as McGonagall conjured a spoon for Hagrid, who was the last to drink the potion. "You mean – those last two elementals are students? Who are they? What are their elements? And _what_ are they doing out so long after curfew?"

Sirius rolled his eyes. "That's kind of not the point here, is it, Snape? Get your head on straight."

Before Snape could retort, Dumbledore interrupted. "Quiet," he said softly but firmly. "And listen carefully.

"It is beginning."

* * *

**Next chap:** Harry and Draco meet! And play (not in _that_ way!). And have a nice talk. Sort of.

**Revised bits: **I took out quite a bit of stuff from this chap (Mundungus, Arabella, Arthur as Minister – what was I _thinking_…) and changed the prophecies entirely.

Oh, and I updated this earlier – on Friday – because I won't have time tomorrow to do it.

Note: The constellations are made-up, of course, as is all the crap about astronomy arrangements – but the three sisters of the fates, Clothos, Lachesis and Atropos, are really part of Greek mythology. Atropos is the one that cuts the thread of life. The stuff about Chinese elements and the eight pointed thing are truths, though the eight point thing is very simplified and vague in here. And it _is_ very interesting.

Please review!

**Ashen Skies  
**"_Gods, but you lot have a cruel sense of humour."_


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary:** HP/DM slash with a side of SB/RL, RW/HG A story about music that touches the soul, friends that refuse to go away, enemies that refuse to let you starve yourself, and lovers that never wanted to love and never want to let go now that they do.

**Disclaimer:** I do not own or remotely have any relation to Harry Potter or J.K. Rowling, though I do have the HP books. I do not have any permission to write this, and I do so solely for my own pleasure and am not making any profit from it.

**Pairings:** HP/DM, SB/RL, RW/HG and others

**Timeline:** Fourth book onwards and the fifth never existed in my happy imaginary world.

* * *

**Chapter Four**

**

* * *

**

Harry shivered as the cold wind bit into him through his robes and Invisibility Cloak. He bent forward slightly on his Firebolt, hunkering down against the chill, and urged it higher, higher… within moments he was on the Hogwarts roof, in the northernmost corner, landing on the stone flagstones. The wide stone ledge that ran around the edge of the vast roof made good seats, though there was the danger of losing your balance to the wind that blew strongly, mostly from the north.

The green-eyed boy sighed, frustrated that he had to use his second choice for his private hideaway. His first choice, a nice _warm_ fire-lit room at the very end of the fourth floor, had been taken up tonight by a couple making out. He could hear the moans all the way from the end of the corridor. A quick check of the map told him that there indeed were two people in the room (the dots right on top of each other, as it happened), and that Filch was nearing his corridor. He had quickly mounted his broom and had flown out of the nearest window.

Shivering, the boy conjured up some wood, then muttered the fire-spell he had picked up from Hermione when she had used it twice in first year. He nodded, satisfied, when the blue fire burned the wood, casting an eerie blow glow all around. It made him uneasy, somehow. To see fire, something he looked at everyday, look so unfamiliar was just… well, it was creeping him out. But he shrugged it off and took out his flute.

The rough wood was familiar in his hands, and it reminded him of better times, when Hagrid had made the flute for him. When he had not truly feared and understood the dangers lying in wait, but just plunged into things unthinkingly. Now he seemed to be doing nothing but think, and now he knew how foolish he had been back then. Dragging Ron into the basilisk lair with him was stupid. He could have gotten killed – Harry himself almost had been! Even Lockheart hadn't deserved that. Hermione, too, had been a victim in trying to help him. Why hadn't he realized what the monster was sooner? He should have been researching it himself!

And Ginny – she had gotten hurt, manipulated, pushed within an inch of death, and it was because Harry had been too stupid to recognize the diary for what it was, for not telling Dumbledore. He'd foolishly _trusted_ it, and turned on Hagrid of all unlikely people. Yet both Ginny and Hagrid still continued to admire him, to respect him, care for him – that was the worst part. He didn't deserve any of them. All he did was get them killed; Cedric and Dean and Luke and Sandra had proved that.

Shaking his head to clear away such thoughts, Harry lifted the flute again. Every night, he escaped from reality; it was weak of him, but he couldn't keep up his wall all day. He'd get better with practice, with time, but for now… He just let go, pouring out all the emotions he had bottled up the entire day to the black night, through his music. And it made him feel better, at least until he put down his flute and went back to the tower and the suffocating life he led in the daylight.

The natural talent Harry had at playing the flute had revealed its existence last year, when he had first brought it along with him on his nightly escapes as something to pass the time. Little did he expect how comfortable he was with the flute; he could pick out any tune he'd vaguely heard before without thinking about it. Sometimes he even tried his hand at composing his own. Everything fell away when he was enveloped in his music; it rivaled even flying. His Firebolt gave him exhilaration – his flute provided solace.

The first few, hesitant notes of a haunting tune that had been running through his head all day long hung in the night air, the soft, rich sound of the flute resonating gently. Then, as Harry relaxed further, the melody flowed eagerly forth from the hollow wood. Its sad, melancholy tone wove a tapestry against the backdrop of the majestic stone castle and the starburst cloth of night. Its sheer intensity carried away the frustrations of the lone figure on the roof, with his eyes closed and the blue light of the fire flickering over him, battling with the shadows for possession of this fragile, fallen boy.

The initially soft song gradually grew stronger with passion, as the flutist gave his all to the music. The notes, carried by the wind, haunted the ancient fortress of Hogwarts, immersing the castle in the liquid fire of his music. Grief, hurt, sorrow, hatred, sadness, guilt – everything that Harry held back inside of him into an unearthly song that left any person who heard it breathless with the powerful emotions that buffeted them, and brought tears to their eyes without quite knowing why.

Yet, with all its heavenly beauty, it seemed so lonely; a string of sound, incomplete. But a flute can only play a note at a time, and so, it was condemned to being alone, like how Harry had condemned himself to being alone. He would never reach out for help, because if he did, the death that surrounded him would swallow his friends too. So he had to stay inside the prison he had created for himself, inside the darkness; because nobody could know the real Harry, who wanted nothing more in the world than to be able to be with people who loved him and whom he loved back.

_But I can't_, a voice in him whispered, and the notes grew anguished. _I can't, because my love only kills them._

Then Harry faltered in his playing, too stunned to continue. For intertwining with his flute, quiet enough to let the flute's melody rise above it in a solo, were the soft harmonious sounds of a piano's accompaniment.

* * *

Draco alighted silently onto the Hogwarts roof, in the warmest corner he could find, which happened to be on the south side of the castle, protected by high walls that blocked the winds coming in from outside the school. In this cold weather, he was thankful that he wore his warm cashmere clothing instead of his normal silk outfit. The fact that there were warming charms woven into the cloth didn't hurt, either. 

Taking out his wand, he charmed his hands with another warming spell so that they wouldn't freeze up. Then, digging in his pocket, he took out a small hard box. Opening it, he took out what looked like a tiny replica of a grand piano and a piano bench, all shiny and black. Blowing gently on them to get rid of any dirt, he set them on the ground and quickly cast a spell before they could be blown away. The next second, Draco smiled as he trailed a pale hand along his piano, which was now the normal size, and then sat down on the sturdy bench.

He loved the piano, and had played it since young, but his father had soon banned him from playing. _You spend too much time on this_, he'd said. Draco had quietly accepted it, but his heart ached; then not a few months later for his birthday he'd gotten the box from his mother.

_The box has an anti-shock charm on it, and it's padded, so the piano won't break,_ she'd told him after he'd thrown himself at her in a delighted hug. _Don't use it where your father can hear, or find out. Always remember to shrink it after you're done._ He'd been extremely careful with it ever since, and it hardly left his side.

This last year, the piano had become all the more precious to him, as it was his only companion in the night, when he would stay in his room and just… play. Play out his feelings, his agonized troubles, his confused emotions, his torn loyalties, his rage… it had become his refuge, sheltering him before he was overwhelmed. Lately it had become his life, one of the last few fraying strings that kept him tied to the sane world.

Sighing, Draco flexed his fingers – the cold hardly bothered him, but the wind was annoying; why hadn't he just chased Pansy and Blaise out? He was about to play whatever tune came to his mind when he froze. Was that… music? The word music hardly did it justice. It was alive, with a soul of its own, weaving in and out of the winds, weaving around the school, weaving around _him_. It was angelic yet devilish, burning the senses like fire and cooling the mind like water.

It cried out to him, and he knew all too well the pain it spoke of.

_Have I finally lost my mind?_ He thought in wonder. _This can't possibly be real… I've died, then, and gone to heaven. Except I don't think heaven's this damned windy._

All along, Draco had thought he was the only one who had abandoned himself through music, thought he was the only one in this world who felt so lonely, so helplessly lost. The only one so messed up, that he even thought his music alive. But here was someone who was in the same state as he was in, shared the same emotions, shared the same passion… the same music. He didn't know how he could understand all that just through _music_, but he could. He could feel the other person's sorrow through that lonely flute melody that reached out to his soul.

He was spellbound, simply reveling in that sound, when he realized he knew the song. It was a beautiful, heart wrenching instrumental piece that had haunted his mind for a long time the first time he'd heard it. That was one of the reasons why he had painstakingly listened to it on end and composed his own musical score for it, until he could play it by heart. It was one of his favourite pieces, called _Sadame_ – Japanese for fate, destiny. And it was a Muggle song, too, which was also another reason why he chose to learn it, because he wanted to prove he would never bow down to –

But that wasn't the point, was it? Draco calmed himself down, knowing that he wouldn't play well with his composure agitated. He repositioned his fingers, lips moving as he counted the beat to the song, waiting for the right moment to join in, and then did just that.

He released his soul into it, playing like he always did, but holding back just enough so that it wouldn't drown out the flute. He felt the music being lifted into the air by the wind, to meet the flute's tune. Like two long-lost friends, the notes twined around each other, melting into each other like one whole, one seamless perfect song.

The other music hesitated, withdrawing into itself, stopping – and Draco prayed fervently that it would come back. It couldn't just stop – not now, not when he had finally found someone who could, perhaps, truly understand him. He let this worry flow through the notes, with a hint of a plea: reassuring that nothing mattered in the night except who you truly were. His music wrapped itself around the other, buoying it, a comfortable, steady support; like the constant strength of wood and of earth, of the flowing coolness of soft breezes.

_Please understand… please don't go away. I won't ask anything. I don't need to know._

_I just need you to stay.

* * *

_

Harry sometimes went for a walk in the Forbidden Forest, along the outskirts, nothing dangerous. Just deep enough into the woods that he was surrounded by the woody smell, the crisp green, the comforting feel of Nature, with the rustling sound of laughing breezes through the leaves. It comforted him, put him at ease; sort of like how he felt when he played his flute. Like he was safe, protected, and the trees and plants wouldn't let any harm come to him.

He felt that sense of peace now, with the piano music that seemed to twine around him. He could feel the other's hope for understanding, for belonging. He could hear the weary pain, and the plea. He understood enough, though he had no idea how, to know that this pianist – this pianist was like him. Enough like him to understand.

How could he give this up?

He let his music sing free, and the two harmonies found each other again. Now the song was so much more potent than before: it wasn't silhouetted against the sky, it _was_ the sky; it was the aged stone of the castle. It was the teasing dance of the wind, the flowing silk of water, the burning passion of fire, the calm strength of earth… It was the vibrant laughter of life, and the bittersweet pain of death – a seamless melding of two souls, once lost and broken; now beginning to mend.

They were cautious at first, trying to determine just how much they could trust each other with. For even though they opened the door, it did not mean they let the other step inside and explore… not yet, anyway. But it was a start.

_Hello, Pianist._

_Hello, Flutist._

_How are you this night?_

_Better than ever before. But you knew that._

Light laughter swirled through the music, lightening the undertone of grief. The two of them were communicating through the music they played. They didn't stop to wonder how it was possible to express words through music, because it was so natural to just let it flow. This was beyond words, a higher, purer form of magic – music itself was magic, perhaps the most beautiful kind of all. They spoke with their hearts, without the constraints of verbal speech, with music as their link; they could feel the other's emotions, and the truth and sincerity.

_Do you always come to the roof at night?_

_No, I usually stay in my room with a soundproof spell on it._

_I see… I play every night, in some empty room in Hogwarts._

_Why?_

_Why what? I go to an empty room?_

_Don't play dumb. You know._

_I… don't want my friends to worry. I don't want them to get hurt._

_Because if they help you, they're bound to get hurt._

_Yes, exactly. I don't want… pity. Excuses. I didn't do things I was supposed to, and I guess this is the consequence._

_I guess we're in the same situation, except that I do things I'm not supposed to, and end up paying for it._

_Yes, and because… there are some secrets that I just can't share with them. No matter how much they want to help._

_Because they just won't be able to understand…_

_And you simply want to protect them._

_And you have to get used to being alone because if you start caring, your wall might just crumble._

_And you won't be able to live up to the image people expect of you._

_And then you'd be letting them down._

_And you never want to do that, because even though you can't trust them with such secrets, they're still the people you love most and trust most and you want them to respect you._

_You know, it's a little unnerving to hear all your innermost thoughts and feelings expressed by someone else._

_Tell me about it._

The song was about to end, and worried – and slightly scared – that he might lose this connection, Harry wracked his brain for a song that most people were likely to know. Hermione had given him a CD player and a CD of pop songs, but he hadn't really liked them; they were fake, soulless. Mrs Figg had let him look through her collection one day and there he'd found his treasure trove – beautiful songs that touched his heart, thought most had no words and those that had were in a foreign language. Those were the songs he'd remembered, and he was afraid that his Pianist friend wouldn't know them.

Then he realized that the Pianist already _had_ started the next song, and it was one of his most familiar pieces – a heart-wrenching piece, _Amethyst_, by one of his favourite artistes. Letting his smile seep into his music, he felt an answering chuckle, and they sang on.

As the night wore on, the stars seemed to twinkle more brightly than ever, and the moon and planets seemed to glow, marking the start of an ancient prophecy and a new path fraught with danger and inevitable hurt, pain and betrayal, but also unity, hope and bliss. And two special individuals, who by deciding their own fate would decide the fate of the world, were setting out on that treacherous path.

But right now, they were just two confused boys reaching desperately for any ray of hope that stretched down to them, tentatively beginning to trust again. New friendships, love and alliances would be formed, old prejudices and feuds broken, fears and secrets brought out of dark hiding places, loyalties re-examined, and hard, painful decisions and choices made; all because of this one night that started it all.

* * *

I do hope the descriptions weren't _too_ clichéd. 

Apologies, by the way, for the late post - I was overseas without Internet access for the past week. This post makes up for last Saturday's; the next post will be this Sat like usual unless something comes up.

_Sadame_ is a gorgeous orchestral piece from the anime X/1999, and not to be missed! The heart wrenching _Amethyst_ orchestral is from Yoshiki, the genius drummer and pianist of the cult band X Japan, whose music is still loved to this day despite having started their career decades ago, despite having broken up, and despite losing their precocious, unforgettable guitarist, hide. Spelled with a small 'h', which people seem to keep forgetting, and pronounced the Japanese way, with two syllables. hide, by the way, is one of the prettiest men that ever lived, and may his memory and his music live forever. His music always makes me smile; X Japan's music moves me both to tears or head-banging cheer. Sheer genius.

Right then.

**Next Chap:** The meeting continues, and grown men cry. Sirius holds Remus, if only for a while. A stereotypical plot twist appears, but stereotypical in a good way.

**Revised Bits:** Not much has been revised in this chapter. It's mainly what they say to each other that changed, but even then it hasn't changed much.

Please review! And thank you to all those lovely people who reviewed previously.

**Ashen Skies  
**"_I just need you to stay."_


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary:** HP/DM slash with a side of SB/RL, RW/HG A story about music that touches the soul, friends that refuse to go away, enemies that refuse to let you starve yourself, and lovers that never wanted to love and never want to let go now that they do.

**Disclaimer:** I do not own or remotely have any relation to Harry Potter or J.K. Rowling, though I do have the HP books. I do not have any permission to write this, and I do so solely for my own pleasure and am not making any profit from it.

**Pairings:** HP/DM, SB/RL, RW/HG and others

**Timeline:** Fourth book onwards and the fifth never existed in my happy imaginary world.

* * *

**Chapter Five **

**

* * *

**

"I think that should be enough." Dumbledore managed to sound calm and composed even through the tears that ran down his aged face. He cleared his throat and fished out a large handkerchief to wipe away his tears and blow his nose before closing the window, shutting out most of the duet that played outside. A trace of the music still managed to find its way in, though: a teasing, whispered secret, as the great wizard turned around to face his audience once again.

Snape and Charlie had managed to hold their tears in, though there was a suspicious brightness to their eyes, and Snape's clenched fists were trembling slightly. Sinistra was still crying unashamedly into a handkerchief that Dumbledore supposed she had conjured, and Minerva was dabbing at her tears with another handkerchief. Arthur, who did not see the point of hiding his emotions around friends, was scrubbing at his own face with yet another handkerchief, and Hagrid was bawling into his hands.

Sirius had an arm around Remus, and both their heads were bowed. Remus had his hands clenched in his lap, and Sirius had balled the hand that wasn't bracing Remus into a fist. Dumbledore knew the song had hit them – and Snape – the hardest. After all, even though they didn't know it, there was still a strong, undeniable connection between them and the two boys out there.

He gave them another minute to get some semblance of control over themselves before he cleared his throat. "That was a very good potion, and I thank you, Severus. If we hadn't taken it, all we would have heard was a song that left us feeling inexplicably saddened. As it is… what did you feel?"

There was a heavy silence before Sinistra spoke quietly. "When the flute music first started, it swept me up into it like a tidal wave. It was intense, like a burning inferno and freezing ice, yet warm like a campfire flame and soothing like clear water… the piano music was just as powerful, but had the strength of thousand year old trees and the suppleness of youthful grass, yet also the calm of a gentle breeze with the force of a whirlwind. The entire song was haunting, and sad, and full of suppressed emotions that found an outlet… negative emotions, mostly, but also a bit of hope. It was like being in heaven, listening to a choir sing of Pandora's Box with not words, but everything that they were made of…" She sighed, a dreamy smile on her face. "There are no words to describe it."

Dumbledore smiled gently at the lyrical Astronomy professor. "That was lyrical indeed, and quite apt. Yes, the magic of these two children, triggered by a particularly stressful period of emotional breakdown, found an outlet through music."

Remus lifted his head and said hollowly, "That was Harry, wasn't it? The flutist."

Sirius's head whipped around so fast that his hair hit the side of his face; he pushed it back with a shaking hand. "You're joking, Remus, right? That can't be Harry. That's not Harry. Please, Remus…"

The werewolf looked down again. "I didn't know… I had no idea he was this bad off. He doesn't talk anymore, or laugh, and he ignores everyone, but I thought that was just… I don't know what I thought. I don't think I know much of anything anymore. How could I have not _guessed_, at least? How could I have not done more…"

Sirius sighed and put a hand on Remus's arm. "No," he said softly. "No, it isn't your fault. I know that, at least; I know _you_. If you thought something was wrong, you'd have done anything to change that." He paused, and then said hesitantly, "How… is he?"

Remus shook his head helplessly. "He's changed, Sirius. A lot. He's like a ghost of his former self… no, not even a ghost. The Harry we know is just… just gone. If you saw him… He doesn't eat much, and pushes away his friends. His grades have gone up – did you know he's now third in school? That'd be good in normal circumstances, but now it just means he's spending all his time alone. And he's so _thin_, and haggard…"

"Dammit!" Sirius growled, glaring at Dumbledore. "Not meaning any disrespect, headmaster, but why the hell didn't you tell me sooner? That boy's my godson!"

"If I told you, what would you have done? Rushed straight back to Hogwarts and endanger all the people involved in the missions you had and delay all the important tasks that were assigned to you?" Dumbledore replied calmly, but there was a hint of warning in his voice. "Think, Sirius!"

"Alright, alright…" The Animagus sat back and glared at Dumbledore's desk. "Sorry."

Dumbledore sighed, and then smiled wearily at the group. "Shall we carry on?"

Remus took a deep breath and let it out, then said, "Harry's elements are fire and water, and the pianist is air and earth."

"Correct, and as to the identity of the pianist…?"

Snape spoke this time. "Draco Malfoy."

"_Malfoy_!" Sirius exploded again. "No way one of those bastards –"

"Sirius!" Dumbledore said sharply, holding Sirius's gaze while holding a warning hand up to Severus, who had started forward, a murderous look on his face. "Calm yourself. Mr Malfoy is not the person people always mistake him for. He is not his father. Although he hides it well, I have my ways to find out. You of all people should understand enough to not judge others by name."

"Draco is nothing like the dog that Lucius is," came a hard voice. Everyone turned to look at the Potions professor, surprised. "Slytherin House is not an easy place to live in. They have had to harden their hearts to survive the animosity of the rest of the school. Draco, especially, has had a difficult time, yet he trusts me implicitly, and despite knowing I am not totally faithful to Voldemort he has guarded that secret with his life. I trust him, and trust is hard to come by in… my line of work."

Professor Sinistra, surprisingly, spoke. "I have a very comfortable relationship with Draco as well; he is one of the best students in my class. I am willing to testify to what Severus has said… Draco is a good person, albeit misguided in some ways. He has also been closed off recently. It has started since fifth year." Here she looked at Remus, whose eyes had widened. "Yes, Remus, just like Harry."

Dumbledore nodded serenely at him. "Severus and Sasha have been most helpful in matters pertaining to Mr. Malfoy. Now, we shall go through the last few lines of the prophecy, yes? 'Of these, two are one of fate, but halved from hate, and so, lost. Music will bridge them, and from them the world takes shape."

He looked around at the uneasy looks on all their faces and smiled faintly. "Yes, I can see that you all understand what this means, but do not think it possible."

"They are _one_?" Snape said in disgust. "Potter and Draco? And because they hate each other they are now halves?"

"Halves that are lost without each other," Dumbledore agreed happily. "Very good, Severus."

"This is really quite difficult to believe, Professsor," Remus said apologetically as Snape snorted. "Their hate for each other is absolute."

"Which would explain the recent way in which they avoid each other?"

"They avoid _everyone_, not only each other," Snape pointed out.

"Yes, but if they hated each other so much, would they have simply… stopped?"

Silence fell at Dumbledore's words. Eventually Remus said, "Alright, even if they don't hate each other that much anymore, five years of enmity won't be erased so easily. I'm inclined to think it's more of a temporary respite."

"But when Harry an' Malfoy played, jus' now, they seemed rather okay," Hagrid said tentatively.

Dumbledore beamed at him. "Very well observed, Hagrid! It is my hope that the bond they are forging through music is enough to overcome that enmity. They don't know each other's identity, and will not ask – it is human instinct to protect what is precious to us, and having found someone who understands them so well, they will not pry, for there is a chance that it will ruin what they have just found. And hopefully as time passes they will come to accept and trust each other."

"So you're basing the fate of the world on the _hope_ that when they find out who the other is, they won't mind because they've been playing duets in secret," Sirius said skeptically.

"And the hope that they will not simply accuse the other of hiding the truth from them and tricking them," Snape said coldly. "As is the more likely scenario."

"And the hope that Malfoy will be won over to our side by Harry, and not the other way 'round," Remus said.

At that, Snape rolled his eyes. "Mr Malfoy is _not_ on the Dark Side, Lupin!" he snapped.

"But he's not exactly on _our_ side, either," Remus countered.

Snape fell silent, and McGonagall took the opportunity to speak up. "It does seem quite foolish, Headmaster," she said primly.

Dumbledore smiled. "Yes, it does, doesn't it?" he said.

"It does?" the others echoed in confusion.

"Yes," Dumbledore said brightly. "Which is why I have a plan to help them along."

"I don't like this," Sirius snapped. "I won't allow Harry to befriend a _Malfoy_ –"

Snape interrupted. "You think I like this, Black? Potter is an insufferable –"

"_Silence_."

All mouths snapped shut, and eyes turned to Dumbledore. He stood looking down at them, disappointment and anger clear in his face. "The reason I called all of you here is because you are important to either Harry or Draco, and when they find out who the other is they will be confused. They will ask for opinions and reassurance from those they care about, and that includes you all here, and _you will support them_. To do otherwise is to break them apart, and then we will not have their combined power on our side, which will result in a very high chance then that we_ will lose_ this war and the world fall under Voldemort. Do you not understand? Your petty rivalries and prejudices are nothing in the face of the horrors that await us if the bond between Harry and Draco should fail."

The men before him looked properly chastised, and the Headmaster sighed, weary. "I wish that I did not have to interfere with their relationship, and let it properly grow. However we do not have the luxury of time, and so I have decided to hasten the process. At the start of this year, I have arranged for every class to have two houses in it, and for the Slytherins and Gryffindors to have Defense Against the Dark Arts, Potions, Transfiguration, Astronomy and Care of Magical Creatures together. I want you to pair Draco Malfoy, Blaise Zabini, and Pansy Parkinson with Harry Potter, Ronald Weasley and Hermione Granger, so that they will have to partner each person in the other house at least once."

"Headmaster, are you trying to instigate war in our classes? They'll kill each other in five minutes flat!" Snape protested heatedly. "Not Draco and Potter, perhaps, but the rest of them are as lively as ever – and even then if Draco and Potter stay together long enough they'll end up fighting as well."

"But inter-house fights have practically disappeared nowadays, have they not?" Dumbledore replied mildly.

"Yes, they have, and I like it that way! Pair them together and you'll have bloodshed!"

The twinkle was back in the Headmaster's eyes again. "We shall see. Now, I also want you to give a part of your research to them as a project. Any research you need help with, assign it to these groups. Ms. Granger, Mr. Malfoy, and Mr. Potter are the top three students in the school, and I believe they will do the job remarkably well. This way your load will be lightened. I suggest you inform the Gryffindors of the importance of their research, as an incentive. After all, it's for the protection of Hogwarts. I am not sure if we can trust the Slytherins as much yet, I am sorry to say, Severus, as they have not given me enough reason to do so. But I hope time will change that."

Snape nodded reluctantly.

"Good. Tonight has been a revelation for us all, and I do hope you take my words to heart. Tell no one, not a soul, of what we have discussed. Thank you all for coming. Off to bed, now!"

Just as everyone was rising to their feet, he added, "And watch out for sunrise, if possible. The after-effects of the constellations will leave its mark on the dawn sky, and I'm sure the sight will be most worthwhile."

One by one, everybody left, discussing matters in hot whispers, except Sirius and Remus. "Headmaster, I'd like to request to stay until tomorrow morning. I want to see Harry, see if I can talk to him, and make him talk to me. I'll go immediately after, I swear! Just let me see him before I go out on yet another mission," Sirius said pleadingly.

"Of course, Sirius. But not later than nine, or there will be problems," Dumbledore cautioned. "I think it best if you see me early in the morning before you go."

"Thank you, Headmaster." Sirius left, talking in low tones with Remus. Dumbledore noticed how their shoulders were pressed unconsciously together, and allowed himself a tired smile. This was one relationship that did not need external help, and he would delight in watching it grow.

Finally, the room was empty once again. Fawkes, settled on his perch, ruffled his wings sleepily, then tucked his head under them and slept. Dumbledore sat there, hands folded in front of him, lost deep in thought. His mind was full of worries, and one stood out prominently.

There was one last line of the prophecy that he did not mention to the others – partly because he did not fully understand it, and partly because of the parts he _did_ understand. He didn't want to spoil the more hopeful parts of the prophecy for those people just now – they had been through so much, and now there was hope, how could he bear to dash it? Better to let one person worry than so many more.

Basking in the now barely audible melody, the great wizard, feeling so very, very tired, closed his eyes; and the voice that never went away, the voice that lurked deep in his worn heart, the voice that taunted him with its mocking whispers and laughter, the voice that laughed gleefully at the dark fate that was so clearly written in the last line… he closed his eyes, and listened to that voice whisper that line over and over again, even as the gentle shine of dawn broke through the night sky.

_But they will walk in shadow, haunted by a ghost from the past. For the guardians might guard against the dark, but who will guard the guardians? _

_

* * *

_

**Next chap:** A nice chewy bit (though I _do_ mean only a bit) of Sirius/Remus, quite a bit of muleheaded!Harry, and chaos in the classroom. Snape's classroom.

Please review!

And I swear I'll update the next chapter in a week. I'm sorry for the lateness of this one! But the first few weeks of school have been terribly hectic.

**Ashen Skies  
**"…_listening to a choir sing of Pandora's Box."_


	6. Chapter 6

**Summary:** HP/DM slash with a side of SB/RL, RW/HG A story about music that touches the soul, friends that refuse to go away, enemies that refuse to let you starve yourself, and lovers that never wanted to love and never want to let go now that they do.

**Disclaimer:** I do not own or remotely have any relation to Harry Potter or J.K. Rowling, though I do have the HP books. I do not have any permission to write this, and I do so solely for my own pleasure and am not making any profit from it.

**Pairings:** HP/DM, SB/RL, RW/HG and others

**Timeline:** Fourth book onwards and the fifth never existed in my happy imaginary world.

**

* * *

**

**Chapter Six**

**

* * *

**

Hovering on his Firebolt, halfway to the Gryffindor boy's dormitory window from the roof, Harry drank in the unusual sight before him. He had been on his way back to the dorm when the pale glimmer of the rising sun had caught his eye. Green eyes wide, he sat still on the broomstick, hardly daring to breathe. With an artistic flair he never knew dawn had, the sky had been painted a luscious tint of rose and swirling pearl and there were bursts of clouds patching it here and there.

But the most startling, most wondrous, most unique sight of all was the silver that coated everything, a silver that seemed to shimmer and sigh and tease the fingers of sun that grasped the horizon; mixed with strong, steady, gleaming gold that was the background to the silver's foreground, a gold that complemented the mistily soft silver with its bright, cheerful blaze that shone even from under all the other shifting colours.

After what seemed like an eternity (which was in reality only about a minute), the gold gave one last proud burst of colour before fading, followed a little while later by the slow fading of the silver. Harry turned and resumed his flying, still awed by what he had witnessed. It was not everyday that one saw a gold and silver dawn, and it wasn't until much later that he realized what it truly symbolized.

Right now he was thinking of the night he had spent, a ghost of a smile touching his lips. He felt better than he had for a long time, despite lack of sleep. The entire time, all the way till dawn, he had spent talking about his burdens and problems with the Pianist. Avoiding anything that would give their identities away, just unloading proverbial weights off their shoulders. It felt so relaxing to be able to just talk... but then, come to think of it, they weren't talking, were they? Then how could –

"AAH!" Harry yelped as he was knocked off his broom by something that barreled into him the moment he flew into the dorm. Even though he was dazed and trying to recover his breath, he fumbled for his wand, blinded and choking. Thoughts speeded through his mind – had Voldemort somehow managed to set up a trap for him right in Hogwarts? How did he get any of his minions in here? And – oh god, his friends! They should have been pulling back their covers by now, asking him what the problem was, but there was no movement, no sound except Sirius's panicked voice and his own loud breathing and the painful thudding of his heart –

Wait a sec. What?

"... to scare you, I'm really sorry, Harry please listen, it's just me, or rather Padfoot, I really didn't mean to scare you like that, I just wanted to surprise you, I didn't think... hey, are you even listening?"

Waving his hand in the direction where he guessed his godfather was, Harry managed to convey the point that he was listening and yes, he understood, thank you very much, and would Sirius please just let him find his damned glasses because he couldn't see a thing. Harry felt immensely pleased he had managed to get his point across in just a few waves of his hand when he felt Sirius step back and fall silent, then as an afterthought, mutter "Accio," and place the missing spectacles into his godson's feebly groping hand.

Jamming his glasses thankfully back onto his face, Harry blinked up at his sheepish looking godfather from his sprawled position on the floor. He was alive, and looked so much better, and he was _here_, in the flesh. Scrambling up, he threw himself into the welcoming, open arms, and hugged tightly as he felt the much taller man embrace him back.

But just as suddenly, he realized that he was being weak again, and let go of his godfather. Sirius, confused, automatically let go of him as well; he took the opportunity to step back, his wall up again in an instant. Stupid, stupid, stupid! He had been out of his mind with joy and relief seeing that Sirius was safe, so much that he had forgotten that Sirius would never be safe as long as he was with Harry. But it _was_ good to see Sirius healthy and well, Harry had to admit.

The look of hurt on Sirius's face cracked his wall a little, though, so he hastily scrambled for something else to talk about, and found it. "Sirius? What did you do to them? I'd have thought they and everyone else in Gryffindor Tower would have rushed here by now." Harry indicated the four-poster beds, all with curtains drawn, with a sweep of his hand.

Sirius blinked. "Oh. That. I just cast a simple sound barrier on each bed, then around this whole room. The boys in here, and everyone else out there, can't hear anything that happens as long as we stay between the beds and the door. Just in case we make noise, see," he explained sheepishly.

"I see. Well, now that you've seen me, you can go," Harry said curtly, guessing correctly the reason his godfather had come. He had had enough of being talked at. What did they know, the lot of them? Sure, they knew about the guilt he felt, but that barely skimmed the surface. Now, his Pianist was a different matter, he understood entirely what Harry felt...

He realized Sirius was speaking and forced himself to listen. "...and I've even brought you breakfast, look. I was thinking maybe we could catch up with each other over food? I'm hungry, and I bet you are too. Oh, and have you seen my collar? Cool, isn't it? You should have seen the look on Remus's face..."

Looking at the cheery grin on Sirius's face and the exuberant way he rambled on, Harry could see through his act to the worry and deep concern underneath. He felt another pang in his heart for worrying the closest thing he had ever had for a father, even more than kind Professor Lupin, but it was for the best. Steeling himself, he cut Sirius off mid-ramble.

"Look, Sirius. I know you mean well. But I don't need help. Leave me alone." He didn't add the part he always felt like saying out loud: I'll do my part in the world and defeat evil, yadda yadda, and then I'll go off and die a pathetic miserable hero's death after seeing everyone who cares about me die.

It hurt. It hurt a lot, seeing Sirius's composure finally broken, seeing him cringe and deflate, seeing the pain and hurt finally surfacing, a hurt so poignant that it shook Harry for a moment. This was _Sirius_, his godfather, his dad's best friend, his confidante – but no. Even his parents had died because of him. He wasn't going to let his determination waver just because of some hurt feelings. He would be grateful to be alive, in the end, grateful that Harry did what he did.

He pushed past the pleading hand held out to him. Putting his Firebolt, flute and wand back where they belonged, grabbing the stuff he needed – clothes, toiletries, etc. – from his drawers, and all the while ignoring Sirius, he tried to enter the bathroom. But when Sirius blocked him, determined to solve the problem once and for all, he finally snapped. His wall was breaking, he had to be final, and there was no other way. Turning his gaunt face to Sirius, a face that now resembled how the other man used to look as a convict, with hollow eyes and prominent bones, he said in a low, cold tone, "Leave me the hell alone. I've had enough of all you people. Just _shove off._."

Harry forced his way past a stunned Sirius, frozen to the spot like stone, and shut himself in the bathroom, the click of the lock a final, decisive sound. He didn't see the way Sirius clenched his fists and slowly drop to the ground, eyes tightly shut, pain in every line of his face. He didn't hear the anguish in Sirius' voice as the older man whispered, "James, Lily... I'm sorry. I've failed you. I wasn't there to look out for Harry, and now... Harry... I've failed _you_." He didn't hear the way, after the spells had been taken off the room, The sad whimper that Padfoot let out, sorrowful black eyes gazing at the bathroom door. He didn't feel the air of self-loathing and despair that hung around the black dog as it padded quietly out of the dorm.

If he had witnessed it all, Harry's wall would have no choice but to fall under that sort of attack. As it was, he was drowning himself underneath the shower, letting the jets of water punish his aching body, hating himself for doing that to someone who loved him so deeply, like the father he had never known. But as always, he justified it with the knowledge that Sirius would be safe, like everyone else.

He stayed there for half an hour, washing up, before stepping back out into the dorm. Pocketing his wand, he dried his hair with a quick spell, and picked up his schoolbooks for the day. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw the tray of food that Sirius had left. Warm, thick, creamy mushroom soup, still-crisp waffles with butter and honey just the way Harry liked it, some cold water to wash it down, and apple slices. Harry stared at it. There were even funny faces floating around the tray, some spell he had dug up no doubt... Sirius had put quite some effort into it. Harry owed him one, he knew he had hurt him deeply...

For the first time in two years, Harry sat down (on the floor, but that didn't matter) and had a proper breakfast. He hesitantly lifted the spoon and drank some of the rich soup, then fell on the meal. It took him only three minutes to finish the generous helpings; he hadn't eaten for so long. _Only ONCE shall I do this, and it's only because Sirius went to all this trouble for me,_ Harry warned himself. _No more. I mustn't let myself get used to this, because I don't deserve it. And I'll eat less later, to make up for this. _

But all that aside, he was feeling better this morning. Perhaps it was because of the meal; perhaps it was because of the Pianist. It was a small detail, hardly noticeable, but it was still there, and it was a start.

* * *

Remus stroked Padfoot's thick silky coat, comforting without words. The big dog had just padded into the room and one look at him told Remus all he needed to know. He had knelt on the floor, arms open in welcome, and Padfoot had huddled to him, head on his lap, shuddering. Remus understood what he felt, because he had felt the same way too, many times.

Finally the dog raised his head and gave a little huffing sigh. He nuzzled Remus, who said softly, "Don't blame yourself, Sirius. If somebody's to blame, it's me. I've been here since the start of this year and I couldn't do anything. So don't blame yourself. I know you."

Padfoot looked at Remus silently, and the werewolf sighed. "I'm serious – I mean, I mean it." The dog dipped its head with a small whuffing sound, like dog laughter. "You have to go soon, you know. Don't let this affect your work. I promise, I'll try my best to help him. You know that."

Padfoot looked at Remus with total, complete, giving trust in his eyes. He nudged the slim man with his nose, then got to his feet. Wagging his tail lightly, he gave Remus a small lick before padding to the door. The werewolf got up as well and opened the door for him. "I'll send you out, so in case the students ask, I'll say you're a stray that I'm returning to the wild."

The dog nodded, a curious action on an animal, and side-by-side, the two Marauders made their way down the Hogwarts corridor.

* * *

Harry left the tray outside the big painting that was the entrance to the Hogwarts kitchen, not wanting to go inside and face the squeals of the house-elves. Now he had a full hour to kill before lessons. Might as well go to the library and return the spell-book he had borrowed – he had already learnt all the spells in there, and he should borrow new material to study. He wanted to learn as many as he could, so that he wouldn't be useless when fighting Voldemort, since that was the only thing he could do – the only thing left for him to do. That was also why he had been illegally borrowing books from the restricted section, using some handy silencing spells and his ever-faithful Cloak. 

Nodding to Madam Pince, who curtly nodded back to the student that she had seen countless of times these last two years, Harry placed his book on the desk with a murmured 'thank you' and headed toward the bookshelves. He usually went back to sleep for an hour or two, but his meeting with Sirius had gotten him wound up and too troubled to sleep. This happened sometimes, and when it was a quarter to nine, Ron and Hermione showed up at the library, knowing where to look for him from experience.

And sure enough, Harry was sitting at a remote, almost hidden corner of the library, looking through a few books. He didn't look up when they stood beside him, awkwardly shuffling their feet. It was Hermione who spoke quietly, so as to not incur the Wrath of the Deadly Librarian. "Hey, Harry, it's a quarter to nine, and we didn't see you in the Hall, so we were thinking maybe you want some breakfast?"

"Eaten." Harry didn't elaborate, and he ignored the disbelieving looks sent in his direction. He didn't add 'go away', since the two Gryffindors could be very deaf and very stubborn when they wanted to.

"Ah... okay. Eaten. As in... ate. Food." Ron paused at Harry's cold nod and exchanged a This-Is-A-Good-Sign-Right-? look with Hermione. They shrugged at each other and turned back to Harry, who picked up two books and pushed past them to walk to the counter. Trailing after him, the two watched as he borrowed the books and then stuffed them in his bag. Going back to the table he had used, Harry set about putting the other books back, helped by Hermione (who was familiar with the library herself; Ron just stood and watched). Her efforts were rewarded with only a muttered, "Thanks. But I don't need help."

And so, the trio went off to the first class of the day, which was double Potions with the Slytherins ("I hate Tuesdays." "Yes, Ron." "I really, really hate Tuesdays." "Shut up, Ron." "Did I mention I hated Tuesdays?" "I'll hex you, Ron, I really will."). They seemed to have almost all what they termed the 'important' classes with the Slytherins – DADA, Potions, and Transfiguration, even CoMC, and for Hermione and Harry who had just joined last year after the O.W.L.s, Astronomy, but thankfully not Ancient Runes. The two walked beside and slightly behind the green-eyed boy, who for all his pale gauntness had an air of command around him that made people instinctively move out of his way as he walked down corridors.

Arriving in the cold dungeons five minutes early, they found seats at the back of the classroom and began setting up everything they needed. Everyone else was already there, quietly doing the same. Suddenly the door burst open and in strode Professor Snape, silencing even the quietest of whispers with the particularly pissed look on his face. A Slytherin nearest to the door jumped up and shut it before returning quickly to his seat.

Snape glared around at the class. _What's got into him?_ Ron wondered, eyeing the Potions master. _He looks like he's in an even worse temper than ever._

He soon found out.

"In an effort to – to _promote_ inter-house so-called friendships," the Professor said coldly, "the Headmaster has decided on a plan, that in my class _will not_ induce any more animosity than there already is or there will be hell to pay." He glared at the class again, noting the get-to-the-point-already looks on the student's faces. Fine.

"In every single lesson from now on, and I don't mean just Potions, you will be paired with a student from the other house." _Five, four, three, two –_

"WHAAAAAT!" Half the class shot to their feet, yelling outrage, while the other half either froze in their seats, too shocked to move, or slumped to the floor. Snape noted that both Potter and that Granger girl, together with Draco, Pansy and Blaise, were part of the 'frozen' group, while predictably, Weasley was on his feet, red in the face and pointing accusingly in the direction of the Slytherins while yelling something that was lost in the overall noise. Longbottom was on the floor, a look of despair on his face, not surprisingly. He pitied the Slytherin who had to work with him. But for now...

"SILENCE!" he roared, and got it immediately. Everyone froze and then dropped back into – or pulled themselves back onto, as in some cases – their chairs. "This is disgraceful. Ten points off Gryffindor and ten points each off Weasley and Finnigan for that vulgar gesture with their hands. Five points off Slytherin." That last sentence was forced out of his mouth, but it had to be done.

"Now, I will read out the pairs and I want you all to be seated with each other in five minutes. The girls move, the boys stay put." He pulled out a roll of parchment and began rattling off names to groans and muttered curses as people hurriedly began packing their stuff. "Brown and Crabbe, Patil and Rhimes, Jordan and Goyle, Granger and Malfoy, Finnigan and Bulstrode, Longbottom and Davis, Weasley and Parkinson, Potter and Zabini. Potter, move."

Disgusted glances were exchanged as everyone scrambled to settle down before the five minutes were up. Harry unwillingly dumped his belongings next to Zabini's, seeing that the other boy made no move to get up and walk over. He supposed that he should be glad he wasn't working with a girl, and that it wasn't Malfoy he had to pair. Zabini he could handle.

Snape set them to making a potion that was complicated enough to need two people doing it at the same time. A few curt sentences to each other had Harry chopping up wings into exactly equal slices and Zabini mixing and measuring other ingredients after they had prepared the basic potion. Their tone when speaking to each other was polite and distant, and they finished the potion perfectly without any incident. Which was more than they could say for the others, besides Hermione and Malfoy, who had also gotten their potion perfect.

When the lesson ended, Tracey Davis had her head in her hands while her partner Neville looked close to tears due to their bright yellow potion, which was supposed to be dark blue. At least the cauldron was still whole, for Davis was almost as good as Malfoy. Snape deducted points from Neville for not helping much. Crabbe and Goyle, not much smarter than they looked, had Lavender and Kassia Jordan frustrated, and five points off Slytherin and twenty off Gryffindor. And Seamus, paired with Millicent Bulstrode who was as poor at Potions as he was, had ended up with sticky purple goo splattered all over them and twenty points off Gryffindor for exploding their cauldron. They had to stay back and skip lunch to clean the dungeon.

And as for Ron...

"That girl is the most annoying thing I have ever met! She squeals and whines and made me do all the work while she stirred and the worst thing of all is that I get blamed for not doing the ingredients properly and ruining _her_ potion! I wonder how the Slytherins can stand her! She's so totally fake, and she gushes over Malfoy non-stop, and when she's not doing that she's threatening every single person who even looks at him cross-eyed! Please don't tell me these pairings are permanent, I'll die!" Ron fumed, gesturing wildly to emphasize his point, and almost taking Hermione's eye out. "I need something cold to juice. Lots of it."

And he got just that, gulping down glass after glass of juice ("This tastes good, anyone know what it is? The house-elves have been experimenting lately, I've noticed.") and chomping on his food. Harry ate even less than usual, then pushed his plate away and took out a library book. Hermione noticed, and said pleadingly, "Harry, please eat more." He ignored her, and she sighed and stabbed miserably at her own plate. Ginny, next to her, squeezed her hand comfortingly, while Ron grimaced and cast an anxious glance at Harry. Seamus tried to lighten up the mood by telling a very dirty joke, which he put Harry's name in, and everyone either laughed heartily (a little forced, though) or exclaimed "Seamus!" in a scandalized tone.

Harry looked up at Seamus. "Shut up, Seamus. If you're trying to make me laugh, don't."

That was the longest speech the Gryffindors had ever heard from Harry for a long time, and Seamus took it as a good sign, regardless of the less-than-pleasant choice of wording. Grinning at Harry, he joked, "Hey, I was just sharing a joke. Making you laugh? I'm not attempting the impossible and getting killed in the process, mate."

Harry tried to suppress it, but his lips twitched in a ghost of a smile.

And that silenced the entire Gryffindor table, who all stared at him with mouths hanging open, unable to believe their eyes.

* * *

**Next half**: Draco's turn to stun his house, and then our two boys leave the hall together. And some pretty fireworks. 

Note: I didn't change much of this chapter… which is why it's still so clichéd and childish and rambling. I focused more on changing the next chapter, so please bear with this one? The rest are better.

Thanks to my reviewers – and in response to MikoGoddess, yes, I play the piano, and to Ruby Love: thanks for the OOC Remus comment, I'll work on it. Is he still OOC here? And to everyone else, like Nfinity and LenJade and Jjinks – thanks for keeping with the story! Hope it's still okay, and if it's not, like I said – please do stay until the next chapter.

**Ashen Skies  
**"_I'm serious – I mean, I mean it."_


	7. Chapter 7

**Summary:** HP/DM slash with a side of SB/RL, RW/HG A story about music that touches the soul, friends that refuse to go away, enemies that refuse to let you starve yourself, and lovers that never wanted to love and never want to let go now that they do.

**Disclaimer:** I do not own or remotely have any relation to Harry Potter or J.K. Rowling, though I do have the HP books. I do not have any permission to write this, and I do so solely for my own pleasure and am not making any profit from it.

**Pairings:** HP/DM, SB/RL, RW/HG and others

**Timeline:** Fourth book onwards and the fifth never existed in my happy imaginary world.

* * *

**Chapter Seven**

**

* * *

**

"I wonder why they're all staring at Potter?" Blaise eyed the Gryffindor table suspiciously. "And they've gone silent, too."

"I don't really care, Blaise," Pansy mumbled through a mouthful of food. Swallowing, she continued, "And speaking of Potter, how was working with him like?"

"It was okay, surprisingly. He's smart, knows what he's doing, and does his fair share of work. I don't have to tell him anything, and the level of conversation was almost non-existent." He grinned. "Just the way I like it. How 'bout you, Draco? I see you were the only other pair that managed to finish their potion."

"Draco?" Pansy waved a hand in front of his face when their friend didn't reply. "Hello?"

"What?" Draco batted the hand away, annoyed. "I was thinking."

"You're thinking of something happy, aren't you? I know you. Your eyes went all sort of misty and your face was all peaceful and everything. What is it?"

Memories of the previous night spent with the Flutist surfaced again, all too clear in his mind, and Draco couldn't help it – he smiled. It was a smile that made his normally holier-than-thou expression soften into something beautiful. Then he realized what he was doing, and stopped abruptly; but too late. Everyone in Slytherin was gaping at the supposedly cold-as-ice Malfoy, and quite a few of them had lovesick looks on their faces.

Hufflepuff and Ravenclaw, puzzled at the sudden silence, looked around them and blinked at all the open mouths. Then wincing in pain, they simultaneously clapped their hands over their ears as a roar of noise shook the Great Hall, creating a chaos of cheering and clapping and yelling and jumping up and down.

At the Slytherin table, Pansy was fending off girls and even some guys fawning over Draco, shrilling insisting he was her boyfriend and would you crazy hormonal apes get _off_ him? Blaise, Crabbe and Goyle were trying to shove back the mass of people all declaring their undying love for Draco.

At the Gryffindor table, Seamus was drowning in baked beans and mashed potatoes as everyone tried to pat him on the back or give him a friendly punch. And Harry was surrounded by well-wishers all blabbering about how glad they were that he had finally come to his senses and how they knew that the brave Boy-Who-Lived would pull through, while Hermione and Ron were trying to shoo them away and having no luck.

Just as suddenly as it all started, it ended with a loud roar of "SHUT UP AND GET LOST!" from two voices at the opposite ends of the hall. The voices harmonized perfectly, two tenors that rang in the sudden silence. Their owners locked eyes. Green and silver conveyed identical frustrated anger. Harry and Draco had shoved themselves from their seats and stood, finally unable to take it anymore, causing the people around them to shrink away and stare.

"What is the meaning of –" Professor McGonagall began from her seat at the teachers' table, but then flinched almost imperceptibly as furious gazes of green and silver bored into her. Dumbledore rested a hand on her arm, and she sat down in a huff, trying to regain her composure. The entire hall watched in stunned silence as the two boys stormed out, and they could not have made a more contrasting yet complementing picture. Draco's pale skin and carefully slicked back silvery strands, the opposite of Harry's brown tan and messy shock of black hair, somehow seemed to unite in their fury.

Once outside the hall, they strode in the direction of their Defense Against the Dark Arts classroom, still fuming and at the same time deeply regretting showing so much emotion in front of the entire school. It took them a while to realize exactly _who_ they were walking alongside with, and when they did, they sprang apart with cries of horror.

Mentally, anyway.

On the surface Draco merely narrowed his eyes and drew himself up coldly. "Potter," he acknowledged icily.

Harry was equally impassive. "That's my name, yes. Glad you're able to figure that out."

Draco, always ready for a fight with the precious Boy-Who-Lived, sneered. "Why, two whole sentences. Words of more than one syllable, even. That's quite some improvement, Potter, but then again, I shouldn't expect too much from someone whose parents didn't teach him much… oh, my bad. Didn't teach him _anything_."

Every cell in his body was telling him to just drop it like he'd been doing these last two years, but Harry, deafened to those voices by a slow anger – originally at himself, but it was quickly being directed to the Slytherin before him – took a menacing step forward. "You're not fit to talk about my parents," he snarled.

"Your parents?" The Slytherin smirked. "Oh, you mean that worthless _mudblood_ who's now past even rotting –"

"_Adurotum_!"

Draco's eyes widened as a beam of light so intense that it burned shot toward him. _How the hell does Potter know such an advanced spell?_ was the first thought that came to his mind; the second was: _With that kind of spell, he's actually trying to kill me!_ He automatically whipped his own wand out. "Umbre!" he shouted, holding the wand above his head, the tip pointing to the ceiling. A shadow fell shield-like around him and absorbed the light, both spells ending. In mute fury he brought his wand to point at the seething Gryffindor and hissed, "_Fimitermino_."

The dirt and dust on the ground rose, and those in the air condensed, to encase him in a cocoon, immobilizing and trapping Harry. In the dark of the small, airless prison, Harry's fury was now unstoppable. He touched his wand point to the cocoon and snapped, "Absturgio." The cocoon dissolved and fell back into its particles on the ground; Harry was already in motion. "_Turbonis_!"

Draco blocked the spell, and sent a new one, but Harry had already thrown yet another curse at him. The two continued to duel, so fast that the gathering crowd was absolutely lost, and half-blinded by the ricocheting jets of light. What they didn't realize was that the spells were getting more and more powerful, so that the two were now dueling with spells that stumped quite a number of adults. The crowd soon learnt to move well back, since the corridors were littered with people who had gotten too close and were hit with stray spells.

Remus pushed his way to the front of the crowd and was shocked into immobility for a moment at the sight. A Ravenclaw was fast fading from view, screaming, and Remus hurriedly cast a spell to stop her from totally dissolving into the air. A small but powerful whirlwind of glowing air had caught two Slytherins in a funnel, and was on the verge of dumping them out of the window – six floors down to the ground. Remus snapped out a spell that made it vanish, leaving the boys hanging onto the windowsill. Someone was burning in a shaft of light that stabbed through the window, and he quickly doused the flames and stopped that spell.

There were other victims, of course, but those weren't life-threatening, such as the Hufflepuff boy wailing with terror, staring at the two extra heads and one arm growing out of his stomach. It looked weird, but it didn't hurt, and it didn't kill. Remus tried a Stupefy on the boys, knowing that it wouldn't work, and sure enough it didn't. The red light just rebounded, and hit someone behind Remus when he ducked. There was no other choice. He had to do it.

"_Quantum in me est, pessum ire, fiat_," he murmured, bracing himself. Pain shattered his entire body, and he fell to his knees, feeling all his energy leave him. Through a red haze of pain, he saw that his incantation had done the trick. All the spells had stopped, and the two boys were staring at their wands in surprise. Then Harry saw Remus on the ground.

"Professor Lupin!" he gasped, kneeling down beside the werewolf. He tried a healing spell, but his wand didn't work, like it hadn't ever since the Professor had uttered that strange spell. "Professor –"

"I'm fine," Remus gasped. He slowly sat up. "My body can take it, I've felt worse before." He eyed Harry, who had fallen silent. "Harry, you and Mr. Malfoy help me into the classroom. And tell someone to call Madam Pomfrey. Oh, yes, and don't forget the two boys still clinging onto that windowsill over there. Everyone else get back to class."

As a pair of eager third-year Hufflepuffs dashed toward the infirmary while others swarmed toward the window, Draco came forward and helped Harry support Remus as he hobbled into the DADA classroom. Behind them came the rest of the class. They silently found their seats as Remus looked at the two boys in front of them gravely.

"Harry Potter. Draco Malfoy." The fact that Remus had used their full names, especially for Harry, showed the gravity of the situation. "I must impress upon both of you the seriousness of what you have done. Both of you could have died; as it is, other innocent people almost did. Did you see the girl that was burning to death? Did you know that we are six stories high right now and that those two boys could have fallen and died? There are many other victims of the spells you used. Have some consideration for others' lives, even if you don't have any for your own!"

Harry had retreated back into his barricade, and Draco had put on his mask of cold arrogance again, but there was an air of guilt around them. Remus shook his head. He hoped like hell that Dumbledore's plan would work, and soon. He was starting to think Snape had the right of it all along, if Harry and Draco were any example.

"Think about what I said. I shall speak with you after class about this incident and your detentions. And before I forget, fifty points off both Gryffindor and Slytherin. Go back to your seats now." As Harry and Draco sullenly turned to go, and gasps of protest at the point deduction rose all over, Remus saw Hermione's hand shoot up. "Yes, Hermione?"

"Professor Lupin, what was the spell you used? It didn't sound like a spell, it was too long," Hermione asked curiously, albeit slightly tentatively.

Remus sighed. "It wasn't a spell, it was an incantation, to stop all magic going on at the moment, and render any currently working wand useless. The intensity of the duel that was going on rejected normal spells like Stupefy, and I had to resort to desperate measures. Incantations like that take a lot out of one's body and magical reserves. It's only because I'm used to this kind of pain, being what I am, that I'm still standing. Others would have been bedridden for at least half a day."

A knock interrupted Hermione's next question, and she fell silent as Professor McGonagall appeared in the doorway. The deputy Headmistress had her lips pressed into such a thin line that they almost disappeared. "Remus. I trust you know what I'm here for?" she said, her voice like brittle ice.

"Ten minutes, Minerva, just ten. I'll take them to Dumbledore. We'll talk then. For now, I just want to start my lesson. Please, Minerva." McGonagall, about to protest, saw the weary, bone-tired look on Remus's face and sighed. "Very well." She left and shut the door smartly behind her.

Hermione's hand instantly shot up again, and Remus, feeling like just going to sleep there and then, gestured for her to speak. "How could Harry and Malfoy's duel be so powerful, Professor Lupin?"

"Because of reasons that I find it rather taxing to explain. Please leave it at that, Miss Granger." Hearing Remus call her by her surname rather than her name, Hermione knew it was time to stop, and she quietly folded her hands in her lap. Harry and Draco, who had chosen to sit at opposite ends of the otherwise empty back row, heaved inner sighs of relief.

"As you know, we're promoting inter-house friendships. We had the pairings pre-arranged, but in light of present circumstances, I am going to change them. Now, Goyle, Crabbe, Seamus, Davis, and Parvati will be in one group, while Lavender, Jordan, Neville, Rhimes, and Bulstrode in the second. I originally intended for the remaining six of you to be in one group, but after that display – Harry and Malfoy, you'll be paired. Put that energy to good use." Remus had realized that if they could master those advanced spells, the project he had originally intended to give them would have been a piece of cake.

The two boys merely nodded, inwardly groaning, but they figured they had used up their amount of Public Emotional Displays for the day, and so they had to act extra cold and uncaring for the rest of it, so as to discourage any interaction following their actions.

Lupin gave out instructions for each group. Seamus's group had to research on ways of curbing dangerous dark creatures, and also demonstrate with at least one live subject. He wanted full-length essays on at least ten creatures that they had not covered so far, including their habitats, their weaknesses, their strengths; and the more rare, the better. Neville's group had to research on at least twenty defensive dark curses and their effects, origins, and counter-spells, and find examples of them being used. Hermione's group would research on at least twenty aggressive dark curses, their effects, origins, and counter-spells, plus cures to those curses that actually hit. They had to present it all at the end of term.

Remus then turned to his last pair. The two had moved so that they had only two seats between them, not one row. It was an improvement, he supposed. It would do for now. He thought for a while. What else could he give them?

Ah, yes, there _was_ that, but… was it too hard for them? No, they had an entire term, and he knew that their intelligence ran deep. Besides, it would give them something time-consuming to do, which hopefully would occupy them enough. Remus eyed them critically. "Both of you have been doing research in secret, and practicing spells, haven't you?" They looked back at him silently. "Yes, I thought so. I realized that there was no use giving you those projects since you've already studied them on your own. So I'm going to give you one that you might find very taxing, but you brought it upon yourself."

He hesitated. Could he trust Malfoy, even though Dumbledore had vouched for the boy? No, he was still wary of anyone in the Malfoy line. But… even if he couldn't trust Malfoy, he could trust Harry. No matter how withdrawn he was, Harry was still Harry, deep down. He would always do the right thing, and had proved it time and again, which was why the world trusted him to save it. Him and no one else, because saving the world once had matured him far beyond his age… in some aspects. In others, like matters of the heart, he was still a confused child.

"I've been researching ancient texts on dark potions and spells. It's slow going, since everything is coded and impossible to read unless you have the key to the code. There are a few texts that I have puzzled over for very long but am still unable to decode, and have no time to do so." He did not add that the information inside could save many people and help the Light to victory, but if in the wrong hands, would be a deadly power for the Dark. If Malfoy betrayed them…

_Just remember – trust Harry,_ Remus told himself.

"You're both learning Ancient Runes, and the knowledge will help you, added to the fact that you're both smart and your ways of thinking haven't been set yet, which means you might see something in these texts that I did not. However, this is very important and thus top secret, and so I would like you both to keep anything you find from the rest of your peers. Report to me on your progress constantly; and immediately if there is any breakthrough. Do not let anything slip, and tell me anything personally – no letters, no messages, nothing. I trust you boys to keep this secret."

He paused, as a thought occurred to him. "Oh, yes, you won't be researching here – I shall arrange for you to have a private room to use, only accessible to you both, myself and the Headmaster. I'll send you a note, tomorrow, perhaps. The books will be placed there, and may not be removed at any time, so if you need them, you have to stay in the room. Any questions?"

Draco and Harry glared at each other, then turned to look sullenly at their teacher, who was looking tired and had the beginnings of what looked like annoyance on his normally kind face. "No, sir." They felt like they had caused the professor enough trouble for one day. Even though the Slytherins acted cool and disdainful of their DADA professor, they respected him most after Professor Snape and before even McGonagall, and it showed in the way they behaved when he was around. It didn't have anything to do with the fact he was a werewolf – that was widely known and accepted with ease by the students, though not most of the parents.

"Good. Wait here while I brief the rest of the class, and then we'll visit the Headmaster's office." He walked off to the front of the room, and told the class in his clear, authoritative voice to continue on with their work and when the bell rang, he would come back to let them off. And when he did, he didn't want to see any trace of there having been a fight, or it was detention for every single person – for the entire term. That, more than anything else, told the class how thin Professor Lupin's patience was stretched.

Silently, as the class got down to work, Harry and Draco followed Professor Lupin out with their books clutched tightly in their arms. Withering glances were exchanged every step of the way until they arrived at a stone gargoyle, glaring at them menacingly from its perch.

"Bertie Bott's Every Flavour Beans," Remus said crisply.

The statue did not move.

"Oh dear, he must have changed the password since the last time I used it," Remus sighed. "Well then. Give it a try, boys. I never was one for too many sweets, except Sugar Quills."

Harry and Draco put aside their grievances for the moment to tackle this daunting task. They suggested out all sorts of names they could think of, from Chocolate Frogs to Pepper Imps to Blood-flavoured Lollipops. But still the gargoyle sat there, seeming to gloat over their frustration.

"Perhaps we should wait for Professor McGonagall or someone else to come by," muttered Remus, glaring balefully at the statue. Dammit, he did _not_ need another headache!

Draco looked thoughtfully at the statue and shrugged. _Worth a try, and it'd be just like the old bat. _"Wonder Wheezes? Clown Chews?"

Harry stared at Draco, forgetting his enmity toward the blond in his surprise. "But those are invented by the Weasley twins!" he blurted. He'd tried it once, and his nose had swollen and turned a bright red, his hair had fizzed out in all colours imaginable, his skin had sprouted feathers, and his feet had enlarged to a ridiculous size. Since the Slytherin disliked the Weasleys (dislike being a rather bland word), and hated loosing his composure and dignity, Harry couldn't imagine him trying the sweet.

Draco looked at Harry coolly. "Yes, I'm not an idiot. I find it amusing. It makes fools out of the idiots while letting me have a laugh at their expense," he sneered at Harry; not mentioning that, he, Blaise and Pansy, in one of their more silly moments, ate the sweets and tried to compare who looked the stupidest though they could hardly focus for the tears of laughter in their eyes. The memory brought warmth to his heart, though his expression continued to be as icy as ever.

The grating of stone broke the beginning of another confrontation, as the gargoyle hopped to the side the stairs began to spiral their way up. Lupin was already on the moving stone, one eyebrow raised. "Coming?" he asked mildly. "You wouldn't want to keep the professors waiting." Harry suppressed a shudder, as he got on with Draco right behind. Apprehension filled him as they rose higher with every second, nearing what Harry dreaded would be his doom.

He would soon prove himself right.

* * *

Well, in Harry's point of view he'd be right, anyway. Doom. But in the interest of HPDM development… then it's aaaaall good. Heh. 

Any comments or critique are very welcome – constructive critique in particular. Thanks for reading so far! It gets fun after this.

I edited this chap a lot, a lot a lot a lot. Changed the entire fight scene, for one. Hope it sounds better now… Thanks to all those who reviewed! Yes, Sirius might have been rather OOC in the last chapter, sorry.

**Next Chap:** Harry gets a pie in his face. Moo ha ha ha.

**Ashen Skies  
**"_Mentally, anyway."_


End file.
